


Basalit

by SonyaBlackmane



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Can't stand Trespasser either, Canon-Typical Violence, ENJOY!!!, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Forced Alliance, Forced Allies turned Friends, Friendship turned romance, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I hate tags, I so totally can..., I suppose on the last tag?, Let's see how this goes, Mostlikely Trespasser will be avoided, Non-Canon Relationship, Secret Abilities, Secret Defects, Secrets, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Slow Burn, There are definitely spoilers!, Wait...No, don't know yet, it will be awesome, mage/templar romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2018-08-07 20:23:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 69,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7728553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonyaBlackmane/pseuds/SonyaBlackmane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basalit-An: (Qunlat) meaning 'a non-Qunari worthy of respect'.</p><p>Dove is a Vashoth, born under unique circumstances, harboring incredulous secrets, the Valo-kas mercs being the only people to ever accept her. Through necessity, born of the Breach in the sky, and the mark on her hand, she befriends the Templar commanding Inquisition forces, Cullen, and that friendship soon turns to an unbreakable bond. But could it be possible that it is more than friendship that ties them to one another?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. White Wings on the Ice

**Author's Note:**

> (The majority of the character dialogue featured will be canon, with some minor changes, and added non-canon, of course.)
> 
> (FYI Dove has the UK accent, for anyone who particularly cares for those types of facts before they read a fiction)

     

     The scrape of metal against stone. The feel of a damp floor under her knees. And pain. Pain that she could not discern the meaning of. Pain in her left hand that burned with a terrible vengeance. It throbbed, like venom coursing through her veins, which lead to the conclusion that perhaps she'd been poisoned, until she learned otherwise. The sound of her hand crackling, like fire. The smell. The smell of decay, of death, urine left in the bottom of an unchecked chamber pot. Cold, damp air.

     A dungeon. She was in a dungeon, in shackles. She could feel the icy touch of heavy iron wrapped around her wrists, feel the way the flecks of rust rubbed against her skin. The taste. Of copper in her mouth, on a dry tongue. The sound of keys jingling for a brief moment, before fitting themselves into a keyhole and turning, unlocking the metal door, that creaked with unoiled hinges when it swung open. Then there were footsteps, beginning to circle around where she sat on the floor, head bent, listening. They watched her for a moment, assessing her appearance. Then she heard the voice, the unmistakable Nevarran accent.

     "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you now?" scathed the woman.

     Dove didn't look up. She didn't need to, it didn't matter. She knew the woman directed her words to her. Dove said nothing, kept her head bent, listening to the woman's footsteps echo in her ears. Her armor clinked every so often, the unique sound of a sheathed blade dangling at her hip.

     "If you must." Dove said solemnly, head still bent, accepting her situation as it was. The woman growled, her pacing more agitated, as she stepped behind her.

     "I _must_ have answers!" she said back to her, slowly making her way back around to the front of what would've been Dove's line of sight. "Everyone that attended the Conclave is dead!" the woman said, her voice straining in her emotion. "Except for you!" she spat.

     Nothing Dove couldn't gather for herself. She knew it already. She didn't have to see it for herself to know. She could smell it in the air, she could _feel_ it. Spirits whispered in her ears. She was saarebas, considered an Apostate to most, after all, and the amount of death that lingered in the air, and their spiritual agony, it was too much. She slowly and steadily breathed in and out.

     "You think I'm responsible." she said to the woman, her own voice almost completely void of emotion. She could not deny that possibility. She had no memory of what happened, nothing beyond gaining entry to the Temple, and waking to find herself in chains. Except...

     "Explain this!" the woman barked, grabbing her left arm, holding it up, and Dove in turn winced at the pain, and the spark it made, echoing loudly in her sensitive ears. Poisonous magic, that didn't belong to her, that hurt her, rebelled against her body, just as her own magic rebelled against it. The woman let go of her arm, casting it back to her side.

     "I can't." Dove said quietly and evenly.

     "What do you mean you can't?!" the woman raged.

     "I do not know what it is, or how it got there."

     Her words made the woman growl again, teeming with frustration at the lack of a proper answer.

     "You're lying!" she spat.

     She lunged at Dove, aiming to snatch her up, possibly gut her with her blade, as she heard the small scrape of metal graze against the inside of the hilt, drawing her sword. More footsteps, as someone else came between Dove and the woman, pushing her back and away. Lighter, more graceful footsteps.

     "We need her Cassandra." said the other woman. So her name was Cassandra. Given the gravity of the situation, she very well could be Cassandra Pentaghast, the Seeker of Truth, and right hand of the Divine. A woman who would be very distraught at the destruction and death that seemed evident in their midst. It explained her behavior, and interest in Dove. Cassandra breathed in and out, raggedly, for a moment, calming herself. Then the other woman spoke.

     "You do not remember what happened, then?" she asked, her voice calm, and much less abrasive than the Nevarran that berated her. Dove took a deep breath, relinquishing the only information she had for them.

     "I remember running. There were creatures chasing me. And then a woman. She reached out to me, and then...That is all." she hung her head further, her chin touching her chest, resting on the leather that covered her form. A sign of defeat. In her mind, still trying to process what she had... _seen_. If it was no dream, than what that meant...She inhaled a little.

     "A woman?" she asked Dove.

     "I did not recognize her." Dove replied. She heard Cassandra sigh.

     "Go to the forward camp, Leliana." she said. "I will take her to the rift." At those words, the graceful footsteps of the woman called Leliana slowly faded away, leaving the dungeon. Presumably Sister Leliana, the left hand of the Divine, perhaps. Both were very interested in all this. Making her wonder where Justinia was. Dove couldn't help but ask Cassandra her question, as the Seeker slowly reached to undo the shackles that pinned her in place.

     "What _did_ happen?" she asked her, as the shackles fell to the stone floor with a clatter.

     "It will be easier to explain if I show you." Cassandra replied, and Dove accepted this, resisting a disheartened chuckle. For now, she was being freed. Leliana said they needed her. She was useful somehow. No need to explain to them her situation if it meant they would throw her back into a cell once more. They needed answers, and so did she. So she stood with her head bent still, knowing how unnerving it must be that she towered over Cassandra, even though she was short, a runt, amongst horned people. She felt warm light across her face, being lead out of the dungeon, then a cold chill that almost left her breathless from the feel of it.

     She heard the thunder in the sky, off to the left, and lifted her head that direction. She could feel the unnatural magic, the despair, the agony that hung in the air. It was everywhere.

     "We are calling it the Breach." Cassandra remarked ahead of her. "It's a massive rift into the world of demons, that grows larger with each passing hour." The woman's voice was full of worry. A hole in the distance that lead to the Fade? And a saarebas with magic on her hand that felt connected to it? No wonder they thought her responsible for it. Maybe she was. She had yet to feel anything familiar, any memory of creating such a thing, however.

     "It's not the only such rift." she heard Cassandra continue speaking. "Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave."

     "An explosion did that." Dove mused upon that information, almost in disbelief, focusing her attention towards the Breach still, never wavering from it.

     "This one did. Unless we act, the Breach may continue to grow until it swallows the world." Cassandra said as she stepped closer to Dove. She felt her jaw tighten in response to the gravity of such a statement. There was another crackle in the distance, coming from the Breach, and in turn, the poisonous magic in Dove's hand also sizzled, burning flesh, making her cry out in pain, dropping her to her knees. It was so intense, Cassandra's words barely registered in her mind at first.

     "Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads." she said, a hint of emotion in her voice. What said emotion meant, she was still mulling over in her mind as Cassandra continued. "And it _is_ killing you." she warned. "It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn't much time."

     "The key to stopping this...how?" Dove heard herself ask, absentmindedly rubbing the palm of her hand, finding no solace in such an act.

     "By closing the Breach." Cassandra replied, leaning in close. "Whether that's possible is something we shall discover shortly." she affirmed. "It is our only chance, however...And _yours_." Her voice held an air of seriousness that Dove had yet to hear from her. She meant every word.

     "If I can help, I will." Dove said to her, mustering the will to stand, as she felt Cassandra grip her arm to help her up. 

* * *

     Cullen Rutherford would never forget first meeting the woman who fell out of the Fade. Dove, she was called, a Qunari, as far as he could tell after meeting her at the remnants of the Temple, though not like any he'd ever seen before. She was short for her heritage, no taller than him. As if stunted at birth, and he had no doubt that such a thing meant she was seen as an outcast among people of the Qun. Supposedly she was Vashoth, which made sense, and a member of the Valo-kas mercenaries hired to attend the Conclave, as a security detail.

     The sole survivor. Given her odd name, her odd appearance, and many more things, Cullen found himself very intrigued by the speculations surrounding her. And concerned. For aside from everything else, she was a mage, which meant she could have a personal interest in the Conclave, and how it might effect mages everywhere, including Apostates such as herself that lived outside the boundaries of Chantry law. Given this, he thought it likely she _was_ responsible.

     She had been taken into custody by the right and left hand, while Cullen lead an advance on the demons from the Breach. Supposedly the interesting mark on her hand was connected to it, according to an elven Apostate who surrendered to them. For whatever reason, whether it was the mark, or Divine intervention, Dove survived the explosion, and Cullen felt it best to let the others sort that out, and concentrate on the frontal assault at the Temple gates, beat the demons back until the cavalry arrived, so to speak.

     The Breach surged, growing larger, almost rhythmic in nature, and one could almost time its fluctuation in power to the second. But the pulses quickened that day. Word got to his position that the Qunari prisoner was awake, and with the Seeker, headed to the Breach, presently. Cassandra believed they could close it, and meant to test her theory on something smaller first, provided there was no resistance from their unique prisoner.

     Demons advanced on the remaining soldiers, and time was running out, their numbers dwindling. The wounded, who were unable to continue fighting, were dragged back to the forward camp, and already the bodies of the dead piled. Cullen silently prayed they would pull through this, and figure out a way to close the Breach, before the entire world lay at the mercy of it, which, for all he knew, it already did.

     A creature caught him off guard, sending him backwards, his armor taking the brunt of it, but nonetheless he was winded. Wouldn't surprise him if a rib cracked as he hit the boulder behind him. The demon pounced, slashing at his armor, and it was all he could do to kick the beast away with a heavy boot to its ugly face. He grunted as he stood, adjusting his sword and shield, to continue fighting. Sweat poured down his face. How long had he been fighting? He lost track of time, as the rifts just kept pouring things at them.

     Screams and cries were heard. The ominous sounds in the sky as the Breach continued its assault. Like a large green cyclone of terror, and this close to it, every bone in Cullen's body had to fight from trembling. He lunged at a demon in front of him, only to be ripped backward by another. Burning in anger, he leapt to his feet, about to retaliate, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw her. For a brief moment, as if in slow motion.

     ...A flurry of snow white hair, cascading down her back, pale, greyish skin, that clashed with the brown leather coat she wore, wind whipping her face, and horns. They grew backward, away from her face, in a subtle, rather demure manner, like a cat with its ears flitting back. A long braid of hair that whipped just as she did when she aimed her staff and shot spikes of ice into the demon before him. And just for a moment, one brief moment, her eyes met his. As white as her hair, before she closed them, turning to set her magic upon another demon behind her.

     A mage so in tune with the Fade she fought with her eyes closed? And the magic that rolled off of her...The traces of Lyrium lingering in his veins were calling out to it. Practically screaming for him to combat it, or was that just his own mind, his instinct? It was everything he could do to resist. Whoever this woman was, she was helping them, fighting the demons along side the soldiers. So instead, he took his sudden instinctual animosity out on the demons, gritting his teeth as he turned away from the mage, slashing the closest thing to him with eerie green skin.

     He turned to find himself placated on his back once more, knocked backwards by another demon, which he hacked and slashed at, until it disappeared, sucked back into the Fade rift nearby. Then there was another crack. A smaller sound compared to the Breach, but an unmistakable one. He lifted his gaze as he heard the sound of the rift being manipulated, and saw it disappear. The rift was finally gone.

     He let out a heavy sigh of relief that he hadn't been sure he ever would, prying himself from the ground, brushing off his armor. Seeing the Seeker, accompanied by Varric Tethras, and the elven Apostate. Behind them...Dove, he assumed. She would not meet his gaze, and instead stared at the ground, breathing heavy.

     "Lady Cassandra." he greeted the Seeker. "I see you managed to close the rift." Cullen noted. "Well done." he nodded to her. She glanced back at the Qunari behind her.

     "Do not congratulate _me_ , Commander." Cassandra corrected. "This was the prisoner's doing." she turned again to the Qunari, who said nothing. Her expression changed little, probably still concerned, given her present state of company. She knew what Cullen was. But she was able to use that magic on her hand to close the rift? This was the best news he'd heard all day.

     "Is it?" he asked as he stepped toward her. She didn't look at him, but her head turned slightly his direction. "I hope they're right about you." he said to her. "We lost a lot of people getting you up here."

     "I cannot promise you anything, but I will do whatever I can." she finally said, her voice and face grim. She spoke with a soft, possibly Ferelden accent, or Free Marches proper, separating her further from the roughness of Qunari people than she already seemed to be. Something...something was different about her. And not just the mark on her hand. Was it her face? The lack of angular features attributed to someone of her race? What she said was in earnest, at least. Whether she was responsible for the Breach or not, she was willing to attempt to close it, if she could. It slightly eased the worry in the back of Cullen's mind.

     "That's all we can ask." Cullen admitted. "The way to the Temple should be clear." he informed the Seeker. "Leliana will try to meet you there."

     "Then we'd best move quickly." Cassandra said to him and the others with her. "Give us time, Commander." she said to him, and he nodded, gesturing to move the remaining troops back, reaching to aid a wounded soldier, as Cassandra and her companions, including the Qunari, moved forward, towards the Temple, towards the Breach.

     He looked back one last time to see Dove trailing behind them, turning back just as he did. Searching the ground for a moment, before her eyes slowly made their way to his once more, a look of fear painted across her face. That wasn't something one saw very often on the face of a horned figure in Thedas, and it threw him off-guard. But quickly she turned away and followed the Seeker, headed to the Temple.

     "Maker watch over you. For all our sakes." Cullen muttered, before turning back to the task at hand.


	2. And So We Take Flight

     She felt the rumble of the beast. The impact rippling through the stone under her like water cascading down a rock, sending smaller, almost microscopic aftershocks, vibrating beneath her feet. The roar of the thing could be heard, loud and clear, a Pride demon. Summoned from the Breach when Dove was instructed to open it, wary of things from the other side, but it needed to be opened from their side in order to close it permanently, causing whatever was in it to spill out. Which was a Pride demon.

     She had heard her own voice speak in the distorted memories brought by the thinness of the Veil where they stood. Echoes of what took place. Heard the tremor of terror in Divine Justinia's voice, pleading for her help, and the voice of the unknown assailant order his lackeys, whoever they were, to kill Dove. But she could not explain it. She still couldn't remember. Though she had a feeling that this would not end here. With or without the Breach successfully closed, there would only be more questions needing answers. She took a deep breath when the demon approached, and closed her eyes.

     Her magic summoned swiftly, her strokes deadly, especially to the lesser demons that appeared when she manipulated the tremendous rift with its suffocating aura. Disrupting the current of the rift with the mark on her hand hurt, _profusely_ , but it weakened the impenetrable Pride demon that cracked a venomous whip of magic, the crackle of which she could feel as she leapt sideways to avoid it, coming back up to shoot spikes of ice at its face, hopefully to blind it. She almost lost her balance when it dropped to its knees, weakened for a brief moment. But she managed to keep her footing, breathing deeply, as the fighting continued.

     The shouting, the loosing of arrows, the eerie cries of the demons, and Cassandra and Solas' instruction, all distracting sounds. Dove found it hard to concentrate with the chaos, attempting to focus on the crack of the whip, and the aura of the Fade that practically bled from the Breach before them.

     "Now!" cried Cassandra, and Dove Fade Stepped toward the rift, holding out her hand, feeling the sting as the mark seemed to absorb her power, her very life's essence, and used it to manipulate the rift, one last time, feeling the warmth of light on her skin, before dropping to the ground, drained completely of energy, half expecting the Fade to end her life right then and there, as payment for causing this horrific thing to exist in the first place.

     Then it got quiet. No sound whatsoever, save for the ringing in her ears, followed by the soft lull of unconsciousness, like a breath of fresh air to her aching bones.

     The sound of a door opening and closing woke her up. She was lying on a bed, and someone approached her. She tried to sit up, finding it hard to do so, completely exhausted. Something fell to the floor, breaking, the noise making Dove wince, overly sensitive to it.

     "I'm so sorry." said the woman, moving to prostrate herself on the floor. Elvhen. Dove didn't need to look at her to know that city elf accent, with just a slight twist in the words. She swung her legs over the bed and sat upright, rubbing her neck. Her left arm hurt. The 'mark' was still on her hand then. Perhaps the Breach was still there. But she survived, and no one killed her yet, or took her prisoner, she was certain. She was promised a trial, after all.

     "You're fine." she muttered to the elf, head bent, kneading her neck still. "You meant no harm...The Breach, is it closed?" she asked.

     "No, my lady." said the elf with a shaky voice. Revering her with the title of a noble? "But it's stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. You're...you're back at Haven, ma'am."

     "So we are safe...for the moment." Dove contemplated that. It had partly worked, at least. But it proved well enough that this mysterious mark on her hand _was_ connected to the Breach, in a way she had yet to completely fathom. Scratch what she heard at the Temple. She _could_ have done this.

     "M-My Lady Cassandra said it was imperative you meet her in the Chantry at once." the elf said, slowly backing out of the room.

     "The Chantry?" Dove tilted her head her direction.

     "At once!" the elf repeated, stumbling to leave in haste as Dove stood up from the bed. She sighed as the door creaked shut, shuddering for a brief moment at the gust of cold air that found its way to her when the door closed. She wasted no time in searching for her clothing, chilled to the bone from the freezing air, before slowly making her way to Haven's Chantry.

     Her steps were slow and careful, the sound of them echoing in her ears, light taps, bouncing off the stone pathway, then the walls of the cabins, and then the steps ahead. She counted each one as she ascended, each movement she made a deliberate one. Hands rested at her sides, the familiar weight of her staff on her back, the wind blowing strands of hair in her face, that she didn't bother removing. The people she passed said nothing to her, though she could almost smell their fear, shock, awe and concern. _She_ was the woman with the mark that controlled the Breach. Some believed _she_ caused it. She was either their saving grace, or their mortal enemy. Though she had no idea _why_ she would open the raw Fade to the world, if she did. Though, given the circumstances, she was inclined to think she just might have.

     An Apostate, a Vashoth, and a murderer, a traitor, to many peoples, if she caused this.

     She heard the arguing before she even opened the Chantry doors. It was Chancellor Rodric, once again pleading the likelihood of her guilt. Dove didn't blame him. It was not the first time she was seen as sacrilege, an abomination, and it wouldn't be the last. But these people needed her. Enough that even a Templar was at the Temple, fighting the demons, instead of finding a reason to ram his sword into Dove's chest, for simply being a mage, biting at the chance since peace talks were apparently not an option anymore. A Commander, with a Free Marches accent, heavy footsteps, war-weary, and around her height. They would've been eye to eye had she been able to...

     "Chain her!" snapped Rodric, when Dove had crossed the hall and opened the door ahead of her. "I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial!" he spoke sternly. Soldiers stepped away from the door, nearing where she stood. Her jaw clenched. Once more he spoke as if she weren't there, invisible, a _bas_ , a thing that meant nothing. Barely a person.

     "Disregard that, and leave us." Cassandra said to them. They sheathed their swords and walked out of the room, closing the door behind them. Dove could only stand there, rigid, attention at the floor in front of her, hands behind her back.

     "You walk a dangerous line, Seeker." said Rodric coldly. Funny, that her suspicions had been correct after all. This was Seeker Pentaghast...in her defense? Or just being smart, as Dove was currently the key to combating the still ever present hole in the sky.

     "The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I _will not_ ignore it." she spoke venom to the Chancellor, who ever so subtly shifted where he stood in agitation.

     "I did all that I could." Dove said quietly, passively, trying to ease the tension in the room. It did nothing.

     "Oh you have done _plenty_!" Rodric scathed, sarcasm and disgust fueling his words. "And your actions will be taken into account by the _new Divine_." That was clearly a statement born of disfavor, evident by Cassandra's words.

     "Have a care, Chancellor." she warned. "The Breach is not the only threat we face."

     " _Someone_ was behind the explosion at the Conclave." said Leliana as she stepped forward. "Someone Most Holy did _not_ expect. Perhaps they died with the others, or have allies who yet live."

     "I am a suspect?" asked Rodric, in shock, and realization that they pointed fingers at the Chantry, to Dove's surprise, though she showed no such emotion. Still rigid, with her head bent.

     "You...and many others." Leliana confirmed.

     "But _not_ the prisoner?" Rodric countered.

     "I heard the voices at the Temple." said Cassandra. "The Divine called to her for help." she affirmed.

     "So her survival, that _thing_ on her hand, all a coincidence?" Rodric argued, and but of course, Dove could not blame him.

     "Providence." Cassandra pressed. "The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour." she said with a grave tone of voice.

     "You believe I'm innocent, then?" Dove asked gently.

     "I was wrong. Perhaps I still am. But I will _not_ pretend you weren't exactly what we needed, when we needed it." 

     "The Breach remains." said Leliana. "And your mark is still our only hope of closing it." to that, Dove nodded a little in agreement.

     "This is not for _you_ to decide!" Rodric countered, yet again, but then jumped, as did Dove, a little, when Cassandra slammed a book down on the table.

     "You know what this is, Chancellor." she said. "A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn." she stepped toward Rodric. "We _will_ close the Breach, we _will_ find those responsible, and we will restore order, with _or without_ your approval!" she tapped his chest with her finger in defiance.

     He stomped out of the room. Slamming the door.

     "Do not disregard my guilt completely, Seeker." Dove said then. "I still cannot remember what happened. The Fade twists and turns, and warps what we _see_ , making us see what we want at times." Cassandra sighed.

     "Shall I call Rodric back in here then?" she asked, and Dove smirked a little.

     "No. For regardless of my guilt, or lack thereof, I am needed here." she assured calmly. Leliana stepped over to them both.

     "This is the Divine's directive: Rebuild the Inquisition of old, find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren't ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now, no Chantry support." Leliana's words hung heavy in the air.

     "But we have no choice." said the Seeker. "We must act now. With you at our side." she turned to Dove as she spoke.

     "That is where you will find me, Seeker." Dove said as she bowed a little, readying to leave the room herself. "Demons are spirits corrupted, denied their true purpose, basalit-an. I feel their pain, even now. This Breach...it's not meant to be here, and it _needs_ closing." she sighed. "Whatever happened, maybe I can fix this, before it's too late." she said in parting.

     Silently praying it could be so.


	3. The Herald's Broken Wing

     Cullen paced back and forth in his tent at Haven. Blissful in the fact that he was in a tent, rather than stuffed in a cabin, or sweating within the Chantry's stone walls. Out there, just outside the village's main gate, there was a chill in the air, one that cooled his fiery skin. Though he fiddled with his collar, too tight around his neck. Running a gloved hand through damp hair for a brief moment, glancing down at the box on the table in front of him, every minute or so.

     Dove, the slender, pale eyed and snowy skinned mage, had stabilized the Breach. Though it had not closed completely, it was no longer growing, demons were no longer pouring out of it, and no new rifts appeared, only those that were left in its wake, and with each day, Leliana received more from her scouts on the gravity of each, and their locations. Digging into any rumors she heard, whispers throughout Ferelden, and now Orlais, of demons sighted.

     Word had already spread of the Inquisition's reformation, even reaching the ears of Leliana's confidante, Josephine Montilyet, who arrived as soon as possible to lend a hand. And word had spread of the Qunari mage who supposedly stepped out of the Fade with a mark on her hand, with which she could possibly close the Breach permanently. The Herald of Andraste, they called her, believing she was guided through by Andraste herself. Sent by the Maker to right the world, and Cullen wondered in the likelihood of that.

     It lifted spirits though, and it was enough to know she had tried, at least, and would continue to try, using her magical gift to end their plight, rather than worsen it. So, why was he unable to escape the odd feeling tingling within him that something just wasn't right about her? Something that just didn't add up. Something...something different. Perhaps it was the fact that she wasn't human, or Andrastian, or even a follower of the Qun. Something trivial, maybe, like the fact that she would look no one in the eye, but she had not outright denied her involvement in the Breach. He couldn't be sure, but maybe she _was_ guilty, and trying to rectify her horrific mistake through a sudden act of contrition. A dire circumstance.

     Again, he eyed the box before him as he leaned against the table, planting both hands firmly upon it. He lifted the lid. Inside the box was a glass vial, filled with blue liquid that made him hunger at the sight of it. He debated upon consuming it. Things were different now. He wasn't charged with mages anymore, he officially resigned from the Order the minute he took up the Inquisition's cause. He felt himself shake. Just a little, for only a moment. He closed his eyes.

     "Sir?" a voice called to him from outside the tent. He opened his eyes, snapping the box closed.

     "Enter." he barked, looking up at the scout when he peeled back the flap of the tent. One of Leliana's scouts.

     "A bit of trouble, up by the Chantry. And the Sister wants to see you." he informed Cullen, before stepping back outside, adjusting his hood better over his head at the sudden gust of wind.

     Cullen glanced one last time at the box, then waved it off as he exited. It could wait. There were more pressing matters at hand. Namely, the fact that he wasn't the only Templar to seek refuge at Haven, and Dove and Solas weren't the only mages. More had arrived since that morning, pledging themselves to the Inquisition, but it brought trouble.

     It would take more than words to convince them they should be preparing to combat the Breach, not each other, at least for moment. Cassandra, though not officially anyone's leader, would deny no one refuge who offered to lend a hand. Though should Cullen learn that mages were indeed responsible for the explosion that tore apart the valley, that Lyrium just might come in handy. Even if he didn't drink it, no sense in throwing it away.

     His fists and jaw clenched the whole way up to the Chantry doors, where a group of mages, some of them Apostates, and several Circle mages, bickered with the Templars that had been under Cullen's command, prior to the Breach.

     "Back to your posts!" he barked at them. "Make yourselves useful!"

     They grumbled as they departed, the mages almost in fear of him, and the Templars instinctively answering to their Knight-Captain. That title was no more. He'd better get used to it. Not that Commander of the Inquisition was any less daunting, or demanding of a position, for much needed to be done. Soldiers needed trained, skills honed, to conform to the supernatural forces, not quite the same as batting back bandits, drunkards, or stepping out into the fray to fight magic. Fortifications needed inspected, should they encounter unexpected company and...the Spymaster was sticking her head out the Chantry door, waving him inside. He sighed as he approached.

     It was time.

     He followed her into the Temple, and Cullen couldn't help but ask a stupid question, one he probably didn't want to know the answer to, and heard the waver in his voice.

     "Can we trust her, Sister?" he asked Leliana, who walked a pace ahead of him, and he couldn't see her expression. "The Vashoth, the...'Herald'." he corrected.

     "I don't know, can we?" she countered, much like her usual pragmatic self. So illusive, never straight forward, never giving away her hand. Cullen bet she could play someone out from under the table, trifold, at a hand of Wicked Grace. Provided the devout Andrastian actually stooped to such behavior as drinking and gambling. He scoffed at her words.

     "Every bone in my body says she's up to something. Ben-Hassrath, maybe?" he shook his head at his own foolishness. "They'd never let someone in on it that wasn't of the Qun, would they?"

     "Not unless they were desperate. Which they're not...yet, anyway." Leliana glanced back at him as they walked. "But she's not a spy. Of that I'm sure."

     "Ah, yes, because surely one spy would recognize another." he drawled lazily. "I hear you people live and breathe that cloak and dagger nonsense." he smirked. "Thank the Maker she's not Orlesian, I suppose."

     Leliana chuckled. "We can't all be straight laced, no nonsense soldiers like you, Commander." she cooed. "Even amongst loyal members of the Chantry. A life lived for the Maker isn't always a glorious one. You know, you could try...talking to her." she suggested. "Meeting her face to face, seeing what she's like."

     "I _did_ meet her." he reminded Leliana. Then he assisted her with pushing open the heavy wooden door at the opposite end of the hall, where Josephine was already arranging necessities on the large table, laying down a rolled map, and picking up parchment, to take notes, he presumed.

     "Engaging with a woman in the heat of battle is not the same, Cullen." Leliana chided. The way she said it made Cullen's cheeks flood with color, which he attempted to hide behind a hand smearing across his face, giving the impression he was tired, or frustrated, rather than embarrassed like a schoolboy.

     "Who are we engaging with?" Josephine piped up, glancing up from the table, with curiously wide brown eyes.

     "Why, the 'Herald of Andraste', Josie." Leliana smiled a small but devious smile. "She'll be here any minute." her gaze turned back to Cullen.

     Every muscle in his body tensed at that statement.

     "Ah yes, an excellent idea." Josephine brimmed. "This rumor that is spreading could prove quite useful to us. She could attract followers, and we could gain more influence in the process. The positive kind, naturally." she bit her lip, staring at the table. "At least I hope, anyway." she added. Leliana proceeded to fold her arms, staring waywardly at Cullen, mocking his distaste in the situation. She was enjoying this, most profoundly, he noted silently.

     It was like all the air left the room when he heard the door open once more, and quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly, Cullen moved to put the table between himself and the people coming through it. Not Cassandra personally, but the woman that accompanied her. Cassandra entered, holding the door open for the woman that towered a little over her in height. With a slender but lean frame, and magic. So much of it. She stepped toward the table ever so slowly, head bent forward, hands laced behind her back, like a soldier being chastised for illicit behavior. A grim expression, long, dark lashes hiding her eyes as she focused on the floor.

     "Shall I introduce, Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat." Cassandra gestured to the woman, who curtsied. Dove leaned her head slightly in Josephine's direction.

     "A pleasure." she said softly, closing her eyes submissively for a moment.

     "And you've met Sister Leliana, whose talents are more..." Cassandra searched for the right word.

     "Discretional." Leliana suggested.

     "She is our Spymaster." Cassandra relented.

     "Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra." Leliana chuckled. It produced no smile from Dove, not even a smirk. Nothing. She simply breathed, and nodded her head. Nervous as a baby bird in thought of being pushed from its nest. Rather unnerving. Same as he.

     "And you've met Cullen." Cassandra gestured to him. He resisted a groan, seeing Leliana eye him knowingly, then jerk her head a little, coaxing him to speak. He cleared his throat.

     "It was only for a moment on the battle field, but...I am pleased to see you have joined us." he forced himself to say, resisting the temptation to shoot the Chantry Sister an agitated glare.

     "I can say the same of you." Dove said surprisingly, turning away from all of them, to let her eyes wander upon the bookshelf to their left, her hands clasping one another so tightly her knuckles were even whiter. She stood rigidly. Cullen had to admit, this was very awkward, and he didn't know why. What had he expected, exactly?

     "It is a pleasure to be in your company." she said, her voice so polite and gentle, though none of them knew if that statement was meant for him, or all of them. They assumed all of them.

     "Likewise." Josephine agreed, ushering in the pleasantries, hoping to air out the heavy silence that followed Dove's words.

     "Cassandra tells me you have a plan." Dove muttered ever so quietly, keeping her attention on the bookshelf, as if she couldn't bring herself to speak to them face to face. Cullen wanted to laugh for a split second, remembering moments ago that Leliana suggested they speak face to face, and here it proved impossible to do so. He didn't want to be rude, by telling her _she_ was being rude. After all, she was the Maker's blessing...right? Or could be, anyway. Odd choice, though.

     "As I said, the mark needs more power to close the Breach for good. Which means more magic." Cassandra reminded, to which Dove nodded.

     "Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help." stated the Sister, making Cullen clench the hilt of his sword a little tighter than usual.

     "And I still disagree. The Templars could serve just as well." he said between gritted teeth.

     "Perhaps." Cassandra noted with narrowed eyes. "But enough _magic_ poured into the mark-"

     "Might destroy us all." Cullen finished. "Templars could suppress the Breach. Weaken it so-"

     "Pure speculation." Leliana countered evenly. He rolled his eyes.

     "I was a Templar. I know what they're capable of." He folded his arms.

     "Unfortunately, neither Fiona's forces, or the Templars' majority, will even speak to us yet." Josephine said to all of them. "The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition. And you, specifically." she turned to Dove.

     "How will this impact us further down the road?" Dove asked, looking over her shoulder a little, raising a brow. An intelligent question, Cullen had to admit. He wondered that himself.

     "It could devastate us, in a number of ways, if I might say." said the diplomat, and Dove turned her gaze back to the shelf.

     "There is power in the masses." she mumbled. "Of one mind, shall all of the flock follow their shepherd..." she turned around, forming a frown on her face, folding her arms in front of her, glaring at the table. "How can we combat this?" she asked, with a little less gentility in her voice. The nervousness evident on her face.

     "The people are calling you, a Vashoth, the Herald of Andraste." Josephine relented. "Believing it was Andraste herself that delivered you out of the Fade. And that frightens the Chantry. The Clerics are calling it blasphemy. It limits our options, keeping the opportunity to approach either mages or Templars out of reach, I'm afraid. Their political influence is too great, at the moment."

     "And they aren't more concerned by the Breach, or the greater threat we face." Dove said, slightly callous.

     "Well, they do know it's a threat." Cullen said to her. "They just don't think _we_ can stop it."

     "The Chantry is telling everyone you'll make it worse." said Josephine. To which, Dove actually scoffed at her words, turning to pace for a moment.

     "There is something you _can_ do." Leliana piped up. "A Cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak with you. She's not far, and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable." she assured.

     "She could turn the tide in my favor, perhaps." the Qunari mused as she paced. Then she stopped cold. "I'll consider it. In the meantime, there are still rifts, and this mark can close them. If I'm seen closing them, word may spread in our favor with that as well. It might change their minds. So, where are the rifts?"

     "I shall leave you all to it then." Cassandra said, nodding, almost bowing as she made to leave the room, turning to bow respectfully to the 'Herald', who nodded her direction. It was at that moment that Cullen took it upon himself to unravel the map across the table, placing markers at the corners to hold it in place, silently begging forgiveness for marring such an old and invaluable piece of craftsmanship. He, Leliana, and Josephine gathered around it, as Dove slowly approached.

     "So far," Cullen began, after clearing his throat, "We have reports here, here and here." he pointed to the various places. Dove placed her hands on the map, leaning against the table, taking a deep breath, preparing herself for what would be a daunting task ahead of her, as there was so much she was capable of doing, just by her influential title, given the necessary push. Then she closed her eyes. Lowering her head, almost dropping it completely.

     "We can start with-" he started to say, but she interrupted.

     "I can't do it." she lamented, betraying herself now that the Seeker was out of earshot.

     "I understand how intimidating this may seem but-" once again, she interrupted his words.

     "That's not what I meant." she said softly. "I meant I can't read your map."

     All three advisers raised curious brows at that. Cullen coughed in surprise.

     "Well then. If you can't read our tongue, perhaps I can have one made written in Qunlat, or..."

     She pushed herself away from the table, letting out an exasperated groan.

     "I can't read that either." she said to them, hanging her head.

     "You can't read?" Leliana repeated. "I never would've-"

     "You have to be able to _see_ to read." Dove murmured quietly, almost hugging herself as she bunched up defensively. They gaped at her.

     "You mean you're..." Josephine didn't finish that. As Dove nodded at the unasked question.

     "I am blind." she responded. "I can't see a thing." she chuckled dismally.

     Maker's breath. That explained all of it...Well, _almost_ all of it.  
 


	4. Blown Off Course

     "You're _blind_?!" Cullen exclaimed suddenly, rattling Dove's nerves a little, hastily revealing himself to be the nonbeliever of the trio before her.

     "Not so loud, Commander!" Josephine chastised him. "This is delicate of a thing, as you can see."

     "And here I thought you were pious, at best." Leliana said smoothly, a warm humorous tone escaping her lips. "Or humbled. Remorseful? Maybe even humiliated, I couldn't quite tell for certain, but...blind?"

     Well, the company of humans before her were at least talking _to_ her, not just about her, which had been quite the relief so far, as she hadn't felt such engagement in conversation since hearing the sharpened edges of Cassandra's voice piercing her ears when she knelt in shackles days before. Did they not have any idea what it felt like to be trapped in perceived 'darkness' while people whispered around them? Of course not, she guessed. An unsettling feeling. One she never enjoyed feeling. She felt enough of that just from the Breach.

     "Humiliated? Ha!" laughed Josephine. "I thought you were downright _snobbish_. I'm relieved, to say the least." she said, her warm Antivan accent rolling off of her, vibrating towards Dove like a purring cat.

     She never intended to tell anyone, if she could get away with it, and now they laughed at her. She felt her brows raise, unsure of how to react. This sudden twist was more discerning than hearing that people thought she was sent by the Maker.

     "I thought you were just nervous." she heard Cullen murmur quietly, a hint of something in his voice she couldn't quite name. This was the second, or maybe third time already she couldn't comprehend his emotions. This vexed her. She was exceptional with vocal tones...usually.

     "That explains a lot about you, Herald." Leliana remarked. "You lied to us when you said you saw a woman, one you didn't recognize, didn't you? Not that you didn't _know_ her, you just didn't _see_ her. So Andraste blinded you? Why would she keep her identity secret, I wonder?" she could tell the woman was smiling, quite entertained by this.

     Dove chuckled. "Neither the Fade, nor Andraste blinded me, Spymaster. I was born without sight. I've been this way my entire life." she affirmed.

     "Now that I just might believe." she relented to Dove. "You maneuver yourself like a seeing individual. Bravo, Herald, to your skills at deception." she clapped slowly for a moment. "Val Royeux would love you."

     "That explains why you closed your eyes." said Cullen slowly. Dove turned her face his direction, listening to the way he gripped the hilt of his sword, his leather glove groaning softly as he twisted his hand just a little. Irritated, perhaps? Confused? She smiled tentatively. He had seen her fight at the Temple, paid that much attention to her to notice it?

     "What's the point in keeping them open?" she asked carefully, wishing she had not foolishly done that, now. A habit, really. One that was hard to break.

     "So you lied about seeing something in the Fade, to cover the fact that you're blind?" Josephine asked, her voice wavering with uncertainty. "But why?" Dove's head abruptly turned to the sound of Josephine's voice.

     "I didn't lie, Josephine." she said. "I did...see something. That's what frightens me." she admitted.

     "You had a vision of some kind? Of this woman?" Leliana asked, with a hint of concern.

     "No. Not a vision. I... _saw_ her. I've never... _seen_ before. Only when I dream. It's a...hope, really. Imaginings, nothing more. Just...dreams of what it might be like to have sight, and I never knew if it was real or not, or just what I _thought_ the world should look like...But then, when I was there, it felt _real_...I...never mind." she shook her head. "Disregard all of that. The Fade is a dreamscape, veiled over reality. A shadow of it. You could be right. A vision, yes. A sign, maybe. I don't know." At what point had she started pacing? She stopped just then, letting out a sigh. 

     "You realize that this means you _could have_ seen Andraste, or the Maker himself, for all we know." Josephine said, almost excited, or perhaps in awe of the possibility. "Surely a deity would have the power to give sight to the blind, even if only through magic of the Fade."

     "Can we pretend I never told you any of this?" she asked, attempting to mask her discomfort. "It changes nothing." Still yet she could hear the ever present sound of a gloved hand gripping a sword to the left of her.

     "If you answer me this, Herald." began Leliana sternly. "Why would the Valo-kas send a blind mercenary to the Conclave to provide protection?"

     Dove chuckled. "Because I am the best Valo-kas had to offer." she replied evenly, with no ego, only honesty. "Where I lack in sight...I more than make up for it in other senses." she breathed out, letting her words flow loosely, easily, transcendently from her tongue. "To smell...to taste...to hear, where others cannot...To feel things others cannot fathom." she said softly. "Amplified hearing and touch." she explained. "I can sense the slightest movement with it. Feel the vibration. Like an echo."

     "So, you were a spy, then." Leliana chuckled. Dove shook her head.

     "No. I was sent to protect Justinia's interests in the event that one of her own might seek to disrupt proceedings. A failsafe, should someone decide to, I don't know, speak out of turn, I suppose. Help keep them in line, really. But...that's not what happened, was it?" she swallowed. "And you still have not heard from the Valo-kas?"

     "Insofar, we have not." Leliana said, her voice wavering, as she shook her head. This saddened Dove, immensely, and she inhaled through her nose, blowing air out. She truly was the only survivor then? Left without the company of the only people who could back up her story?

     "This is all very intriguing, Herald." stated Josephine. "I almost wonder if I should believe it."

     "I _can't_ believe it!" barked Cullen. "I saw you look right at me at the Temple. Twice!" he waved his hand, the movement of it rippling toward her, probably holding up his fingers to emphasize. 

     "Did you? Or was that just your imagination, Commander?" she seethed a little. "You and I are almost the exact same height. I can tell by the way your voice carries itself to my ears." she shrugged. "Perhaps I saw right through you."

     "I don't believe _that_ either." he spat. It made her smile.

     "I can hear your heart beating in your chest, Templar." she murmured gently. "Why does it suddenly drum faster, I wonder? Is it the Lyrium working its way through? You reek of it. Perhaps it's your fear, perhaps your fascination. Or your anger, as you don't want to admit I speak the truth. Look into my eyes, Cullen." she demanded. "And tell me what you... _see_."

     He gripped his sword tighter. "I see a runt of a Qunari with a very twisted sense of humor." he spat venomously.

     "That's what I thought." she nodded in understanding, then turned toward the door. "I'll take my leave, and go first thing in the morning in search of Mother Giselle." she said to them. "Since I'm apparently ill equipped for anything else, at the moment."

     "Tomorrow then." said Leliana, without argument. Perhaps stunned. With that, she left them, distancing herself from the Commander that broiled in anger at her behavior. She could feel it. This time, she was certain that was what he felt. His body rose in temperature alarmingly so.

     How could she admit that she _did_ see him? Well, not see him as others would, she supposed, but...feel him? She didn't know why, but she found it bothersome. There were enough concerning matters at the moment, besides adding her crippling inability of sight to the mix, and their bewilderment. Add that to the fact that she could _sense_ his presence, but could not wager at his true feelings. It had to be the Lyrium he consumed. Could be, at the least. Or maybe lack thereof. He smelled different than the other Templars she found herself in close enough proximity to. The Lyrium seemed to hang in the background, while the smell of sweat, wood smoke, and a faint trace of alcohol consumed her senses. As close as she had been to him, even his natural, earthy smell, the smell that meant he was human, that he was male, over powered anything else.

     She would pay for this later. She was sure of it. After all, she could still be responsible for their current situation, and she wouldn't put it past the Templar to use this to somehow convince the Seeker to chain her once more. Her only saving grace was the mark on her hand. Maybe they would lead her around with an iron leash, closing rifts throughout Thedas like the animal she had been before Valo-kas. Perhaps she should've told them the truth from the start. But would they have set her free so easily? Or maybe she should've kept silent.

     No doubt the rest of her secrets would topple to the base of it eventually as well. She almost wished she were back in the dungeon. Almost. She let out a breath when she heard heavy footed steps behind her, coming out of the Chantry, walking briskly her direction. She knew it was him. A sudden idea struck her mind. _Time to fix things, Dove. Now_.


	5. Adjusting to Changing Winds

     "A blind prophet of the Dragon Age." Leliana smiled.

     "She's _not_ blind." Cullen argued quietly, shaking his head in disbelief. But she was unique nonetheless. She was right about many things, namely, his heart pounding in his chest. As for the reason? All of them, he guessed, all of the things Dove rattled coldly off the list. And the way she could 'feel' things, he supposed, her every sense heightened to make up for her lack of sight. And they _were_ the same height, of course. Maker...he was actually starting to believe her, wasn't he? And her eyes...was that the nameless clue he had been searching for?

     "I don't understand. Why would she lie to us?" Josephine turned to Cullen and Leliana in confusion. "Why not tell us the truth? Did she think we would assume her invalid without sight?"

     Leliana took a guess. "She has dreams of being able to see like we do, insecurities. Defensive about it perhaps. And yes, there are some who might question her, if they knew her secret. One we should probably keep to ourselves, for the time being." Leliana was still glaring daggers at the door as she spoke, then she whipped around to glare at Cullen. "What are you still doing here?" she asked him, placing her hands on her hips like a scolding mother.

     "What?" he gaped at her. She jerked her head to the door.

     "Go after her!" she ushered.

     "Go after...Wait, why?" he narrowed his gaze.

     "Well, firstly, I do believe you insulted the 'Herald of Andraste', Commander." she smiled a rueful smile. "Perhaps an apology is in order." she suggested. He huffed.

     "I'm not going to-"

     "It _would_ be wise, Commander. Given that our battle is with demons, not her." Josephine added, almost as smoothly as her sleuth of a counterpart. "Unless you make it so." Women. The lot of them. He rubbed his temple, then brought his other hand up to rub both across his face.

     "You two are serious, aren't you?" he inquired with a scour.

     "You may be setting aside personal feelings towards the rebellion for the betterment of the Inquisition, Cullen...but she doesn't know that." Leliana shrugged. "Given your argument about who we should ally with, she might think you despise her for being a mage." she raised a brow.

     "Seriously?" he practically whined. "It's not that at all. It's-"

     "Place yourself in her shoes, for a moment." Josephine pleaded. "A woman who dreams only of being able to see, with her own eyes, and the first time she sees anything at all, it's the work of the Fade, no doubt to find herself chased by demons? And to wake up and find that demons are in this world too? How frightened that has made her..."

     Cullen bolted from the room, not waiting for her to finish.

     Though Leliana seemed content enough to haze him about his spat with their unusual ally, what Josephine said in earnest changed his tune. Quite abruptly. So quickly his heart pounded in his ears. By the Maker, what if she was right? That would explain quite a lot of her behavior, besides her lack of sight. To wake from a nightmare, only to find it right beside her still. A feeling he was all too familiar with, though in a much different fashion, it was a crippling fear that choked him, waking him from sleep every night. A feeling he would wish upon no one, mage or otherwise. And what if she felt that? He couldn't help but feel guilty. Why should he give a damn if she could see or not? She was fighting on their side, willingly lending her aid, and she fought like an assassin, with true and deadly aim. She, a force to be reckoned with. Not for a moment would he ever believe she was incapable of fighting. He briefly wondered if she was really a mercenary, far too skilled to be mere hired muscle, but...

     His footsteps echoed on the cold stone, and he never realized before how loud it was in that lonely, empty hall. Before he knew it, he was across the hall and out the door, bounding down the steps. He spotted an irrefutable mane of white hair, as she slowly made her way down the next set of steps, past the Requisition officer's tent. He picked up his pace.

     If she really could hear the sound of a pin drop, she knew he followed her. But she didn't stop, didn't turn around and shout at him, nothing of the sort. She didn't react at first, still stepping carefully down the steps, looking for all the world like a dreamy eyed Qunari taking a casual stroll. It wasn't until he was right next to her that he startled her, causing her to nearly miss a step. Instinctively, he gripped her arm, steadying her. She clutched her chest for a moment, stilling her breathing, her surprise slowly melting back into tranquility. He let go of her arm.

     "I'm sorry." he said, instantly feeling remorse. She smirked.

     "No harm done, Commander. You only distracted me for a moment." she chuckled.

     "No, I meant about...wait, distracted you?" he asked.

     "Yes, silly. From concentrating."

     "On what?" he wrinkled a brow.

     She shook her head and smiled, continuing down the steps after a brief pause. "On the steps. You nearly made me lose count." she relented. "I can walk just fine, Templar, but it does take a day or two to memorize a new place."

     "Ah." he said. "Makes sense. But what happened to all the talk of amplified hearing, vibrations and echoes I heard moments ago?" he could help but jeer a little. "Surely you need not memorize steps with such an exceptional ability."

     "Call me lazy. The more I memorize, the easier it is to concentrate on other things. Other sounds besides my own. Other people."

     Cullen sighed, finding himself keeping step with her as they leisurely made their way through the village. What she said made sense. He could almost envision it. No...no, he couldn't. He could never picture it. He could never picture how she saw...or rather _felt_ , the world around her.

     "So, where were we?" she asked, as if picking up a dropped conversation he didn't actually remember having. "Ah yes." she held up a finger, as if having an epiphany. "You were apologizing to me, Templar. Why?" she leaned her head his direction, her expression becoming a serious one. She was really asking why? As if she didn't know? Or did she simply mean to hear him say it, word for word?

     They had stopped in front of her cabin, the one provided by the Seeker, her apparent destination. She laced her fingers together, 'staring' at her boot, waiting for an answer to her question still. He sighed heavily.

     "You know," she began suddenly, blocking his attempt to speak. "You and I are off to a rather rough start, it seems." she started to pull the glove from her right hand. "Let's start over, shall we?" she smiled warmly as she held out her hand to shake his. He hesitated, at first, not sure what the gesture meant. The shaking of a hand, yes, but the expectance that he remove his glove as well, if he should? He sighed, almost starting to laugh, taking it as a gesture of good will.

     "Yes, let's." he said as he removed his own glove from his fingers, taking her hand in his, slowly shaking it, feeling warm skin touch his own. "Cullen Rutherford." he said proudly. " _Former_ Knight-Captain of the Templar Order, Commander of the reformed Inquisition's military force. In short, I'm the lucky bastard responsible for the poor excuses for recruits coming in." he gave his best rakish grin, but imagined she laughed at what he said, and not the look he gave her.

     "A pleasure to meet you, Sir Cullen." she exaggerated her pleasantry, grinning wildly herself, resisting a laugh. "My name is Dove. Tal-Vashoth, Apostate mage, and did you hear? Supposedly there's a rumor spreading that I'm the Herald of Andraste." she grinned, pretending she never heard this before. He chuckled. "Personally I have to wonder who started such a rumor. It's quite the acclamation." she raised a brow. Then she sighed as she let go of his hand.

     "Aren't you the least bit curious?" he asked, growing a little more serious.

     "Curious of what?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "Of who started it? Of course."

     "If it's _true_." he stated. "If Andraste really delivered you from the Fade." She hesitated to answer, at first, searching the ground, trying to find the right words. Then she swallowed nervously, the feeling beginning to spread across her features once more.

     "They say 'seeing is believing', Commander. What does that mean to a woman who cannot see?" Her words were slow and even, her tone gentle. "It's not even supposed to be possible for a living being to physically enter the Fade, not even for the most adept of mages, Cullen." she forewarned. "That idea is blasphemous regardless of religion, I'd wager." The gravity of her words suddenly hit him. He couldn't deny it. He could only 'see and believe', in honesty. See the Breach in the sky, and see the mark on her hand that might close it. Maybe, just maybe. But...what did he believe?

     "So, Dove." he said, changing the subject. "How did you get the name?"

     She smiled. "The Valo-kas. They gave it to me when I told them my birth-name. They said it sounded better, and I agreed." she shrugged. "It also sounded better than the White Pigeon. Honestly, I don't understand what that means." Cullen snorted a little. "Why do you laugh?" she cuffed his arm a little, mocking offense. "I'm being serious. A pigeon I get, but...I don't understand what 'white' is." she admitted. Of course. Born blind. She didn't understand color. She'd never seen it.

     "It's...it's your color." Cullen said gently, hoping she at least recognized the word 'color'. But she only looked more confused. He sighed. "It's a compliment, I think." he scratched his neck. Her eyes widened.

     "Oh." she said. "Oh, alright then." Still confused, to be sure, for she didn't understand what it meant to say about her. Evident by her words. "What...what exactly does it...compliment?" she asked.

     "Your eyes." he answered thoughtfully. They shot up to meet his. In that moment, he believed it. Every word. He understood what she meant then, when she said 'looking through him'. She really couldn't see him, could she? But she wanted to. She wanted desperately to be like everyone else. To see with her own eyes, not just hear, or smell, or feel her way through the world. But...to know what 'white' meant. It broke his heart to see it. That...he could and she couldn't. Any difference they might have had minutes before, it suddenly didn't matter. Not in the least. This woman needed a friend. Desperately. Needed someone to understand. Perhaps it was meant to be him.

     "So...does that mean my eyes look like a pigeon's?" she asked, still confused, and he burst out laughing.

     "Do you have a moment?" he asked. "This might take awhile to explain." he grinned.


	6. The Slow Descent

     Though she couldn't quite fathom his emotions, with one simple gesture, it seemed Dove learned several interesting things about Cullen. The thought of which made her smile inside at her small victory won in that act. By pretending to be startled by his approach, she learned of his chivalrous nature, unable to resist gripping her arm to keep her from falling, regardless of the argument minutes before hand. He was noble in nature, by the feel of it. Given different circumstances, the sort of man whom one could expect to rescue the damsel in distress, locked in a tower, beset by a dragon, she imagined. They didn't make men like him anymore, it seemed, and those that did exist were few and far between.

     She learned of his regret, hearing him start to apologize for his harsh words. She did not need to hear it to know of what he really meant to say. She needed no apology. Though his words stung a little, biting with their intent, she'd heard worse, and he was right to question her, after all. It was only fair. She did the same the minute she sensed him at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He didn't trust her, and she didn't blame him. She still didn't trust herself. But that she had the mark on her hand, connecting her to the Breach, and he commanded the Inquisition aiming to close it, they needed to be allies. One way or other, they had to come to terms with one another, despite personal feelings.

     When she shook his hand she felt how feverish his skin was, fingers slightly calloused, and there were marks on his knuckles that meant he'd spent enough time fighting with his bare hands. He'd spent a long time fighting, and no doubt it would be a fairly bloody fight, should they ever encounter one another on the battlefield. And there was something else...something about the way his hand felt in hers...It was odd. She couldn't name it.

     She learned his surname, which was useful. Rutherford. She recognized that name from time spent in the Free Marches, heard small details in passing. Belonging to a respectable family, as far as she knew, devoted to the Chantry, not like those who fled to Val Royeux and called the Inquisition members heretics, denounced them, but the sort of people who believed in the greater good, she supposed. She had yet to hear anything negative about the Rutherfords, but only time would tell. Though it would explain why a 'former Knight-Captain of the Templar Order' would be willing to ignore the Chantry's wish and command the Inquisition. The 'just cause' wasn't always about following orders, but following the right path. She heard the Rutherford family moved to South Reach after the Blight, from Honnleath, and Dove wondered if they knew their kin was there, in Haven, walking with an Apostate to the tavern, 'in order to set aside their differences', those were the words she chose. 

     But most of the reason was because his jaunted explanation of what color meant wasn't quite cutting it. She still didn't understand. When he said it was like each type of flower having a unique scent, something she understood, as her sense of smell played a great part in how she sensed things around her, she didn't quite understand what he meant by 'each flower has its own color as well, its own meaning'. 

     They parted ways at the tavern's door so that he could tend to some business, and she made herself comfortable at a table in the corner, next to a window, placing her staff against the wall behind her, close by, and she relaxed, but not too much. What was the point of an individual without sight sitting next to a window? Why, to feel the warmth of the sun that hit the glass, as even in the colder months, it made it feel like it was summer outside, instead of foot after foot of snowfall, cold dry air, and so that she could pretend to be looking out of it, should anyone notice her sitting there. Which they did. She could hear their whispers. Some good things, some bad, though all were almost lost on her, too much of a distraction. She propped her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand, and pretended to stare, while she silently poured over information in her mind. Hoping that maybe a certain thought, or feeling, might help her remember.

     She'd _seen_ things in her dreams before. Things that were more than just imagining. Shapes, of some kind, people maybe, though she could never tell for certain. Sometimes feeling like it was less of the Fade twisting what she saw, and more like seeing the Fade itself. She couldn't be sure which it was, exactly, but she could feel the slow and quiet lull of the Fade within it, the gradual pull of the ethereal glory, the wonderland that called to her senses, the only place that could call to her eyes, and bring them to life, where nothing ever could. 

     No magic, no herbs, potions, or discussing past traumas, as for a brief time her lack of sight was thought to be something 'purely mental' of a condition, could make her eyes wake up. Closed or open lids, it didn't matter, she still felt blocked, cut off from a part of her body that was supposed to mean something more than what it did. The only use they ever had was crying, and that hurt to do sometimes, so she steeled her emotions in the back of her mind, removed herself so far from them, that she no longer cried. A blissful inability. But when she slept after the setting sun, 'in the dark' it was called...She felt her magic pull her away to a world where she could _see_. Or pretend to at least.

     But after the Conclave? Something most certainly changed. Those shapes, those things, scurrying toward her, clicking and tapping and hissing at her, and the woman, it felt like a woman, and it also felt like a spirit did when it was summoned from the Fade, only warmer, _brighter_ , stronger, a woman so attuned that she became pure magic...reaching out to her...After the Conclave it wasn't just a dream anymore, and her eyes still stung a little in thought of it, trying to discern the meaning of it.

     A barmaid walked across the floor, straight toward her table in the corner. She sidestepped to avoid walking into someone, breathing heavy for just a moment, almost sighing, her breath getting caught in her throat. Tired, by the way her feet dragged, the ruffles of her skirt catching just a little, trailing behind her. There was another sigh, coming from the person she almost bumped into. One she recognized. Interesting. She had been so lost in thought that she didn't sense Cullen entering the tavern, at all. But she sensed him now, still standing near the doorway, shifting ever so slightly in his stance when the woman almost walked into him. Standing there, watching something, barely thrown off by the barmaid. Staring at...staring at Dove?

     "Sorry, sir." said the Ferelden woman. "Didn't see you there."

     After apologizing, she turned back to Dove, then whipped back to Cullen, doing a double take, realizing the Commander was the one she encountered, as if it didn't quite register in her mind at first. Cullen wasn't deterred, and started walking to the table, the sound followed by the scraping of a chair across from her, and him sitting in it, leaning back, resting his hand on his lap, leaning to look up at the barmaid, who was now too stunned to speak, heart skipping a beat at the interesting situation.

     "Can...can I get you two anything?" she asked them, stuttering a little. Dove finally moved her face away from the window a touch, her eyes dropping to the table.

     "Water for me." she said, with a slight nod, before resuming her 'daydreaming', face turning back to the window.

     "So you came to a tavern to drink water, then?" Cullen asked. She could almost feel his incredulous gaze on her as his words rolled their way to her ears like the low rumble of an earthquake.

    "It dulls the senses, Commander." she said quietly, with little emotion, too focused on silently praying for the whispers around the room to stop talking about her. They clouded over the thrum of the lute, thick as mud, clashing against the music. Not too pleasant of an instrument to hear, she silently noted, the way the strings pinged and pinched out notes, whereas a drum made a more concise vibration, but it was better than total silence, she supposed. Though she had no idea why the lute was such an acclaimed item.

     "You know, dulled senses sounds good to me, at the moment." Cullen said to the barmaid.

     "Water and ale then." she said, straitening her stance a bit before turning away from them. It was just the two of them in the corner then, and a long and silent gap between them, for several minutes, as they waited for the barmaid to pour Cullen a cup of ale, and have her boy fetch some water from a barrel nearby. There was a brief argument between them about the Herald of Andraste drinking from the same tap as the soldiers and commonfolk, followed by 'Oh, it can't hurt, it's not like she'll know.' Dove wanted to laugh, and had to contain herself. These people were so silly. Water was water, and at the moment she was quite thirsty, as she sensed Cullen's gaze upon her. Soon enough though, the barmaid returned with their drinks, made a small curtsy, and left their company, Dove feeling like she could finally breathe again.

     "I think you and I will be good friends, don't you?" she said to him, breaking the silence, reaching for her cup and bringing it to her lips, taking a sip. Tasted fine to her, honestly.

     "Ah, yes, because we have so much in common." he said snidely, laughingly. She smiled.

     "Well, we do." she retorted. "You, a former Templar, and me, a saarebas, a mage. You a human, and me..." she trailed off, realizing where her sarcasm was leading her. She took a large gulp of water, second guessing her choice to refrain from alcohol. Well, it was just as well. No doubt drinking ale would only cause her to say things she shouldn't.

     "You, the Herald of Andraste, and I the heretic for following you into battle." he chuckled, raising his cup. He then took a drink, the liquid gently sloshing, and by the sound of his swallowing it was a large gulp he took.

     "Battle. Hmm, yes." she commented. "I love how you smoothed right over the fact that I'm not human, by the way." she set her cup down. "It does not bother you?"

     "Why would it?" he asked, setting down his own cup. "I think you being Tal-Vashoth is the _least_ of my worries, to be honest." he sighed.

     "What _are_ your worries then?" she then asked, trying to keep from stumbling over her words. 

     "Well..." he clicked his tongue a little. "You never gave your opinion in the current debate, Herald. If the decision were yours to make, who would you ally with? Granted, you're no Circle mage, but you _are_ a mage. And you never disagreed with the others."

     He was trying to be on his best behavior. His words were strained, a little, but they were not spoken with malice. He honestly wanted her opinion. 

     "So...it's not that I'm not human, it's the fact that I'm a mage that worries you?" she prodded.

     "No. No, it's not that." he replied defensively. "It's...I...think you misinterpreted that."

     "No. I didn't." she countered. 

     "No, I believe you did." he hastily corrected. "Our war is not with mages any longer, Herald. This goes beyond the Circle of Magi's rebellion, beyond the borders of Ferelden's continued fighting. This is a matter that threatens every group of people in Thedas, regardless of vocation. Thus the reason I'm still here." 

     He slowly became more agitated as he spoke, but it died down well enough. Though it didn't stop him from reaching for his cup once more, and drinking from it, before leaning back in his seat.

     "See? We do have something in common." she stated evenly. "I agree with everything you just said, Commander." she leaned over the table, resting her elbows upon it, speaking in a hushed tone. "But here is the difference between us, soldier. It's not the horns on my head, or the staff that I wield, or your lack of either. It's that fact that you assume I would ally with mages, purely because I wield magic. What makes you think I trust them? I don't trust them any more than you do." she sighed. "But I don't trust Templars either. I trust in the fact that right now we have an opportunity, and we'd better not waste it. I fear everything crashing down around us if we do."

     "You're very opinionated, I see." Cullen remarked, shifting in his seat. Dove pushed her self away from the table and leaned back on her own seat.

     "I am." she agreed, stating fact. "And you asked for it, remember? At this moment, if we ally with Templars, those opposed to the Chantry might see it as a personal affront to mages everywhere, and those supporting the rebellion may turn against the Inquisition, and make it political. If we ally with the Circle, the Chantry might do the same. And instead of rebels, we will have the remaining loyal Templars and possibly the Seekers of Truth marching on Haven, Commander. Neither option sounds pleasant, I'm sure you will agree."

     He sighed. "True, they don't. So...what do you suggest then?" he chuckled a little. "Which one sounds slightly more pleasant, do you think?"

     She laughed a little and shook her head. "It's never been about choosing a side, don't you see?" she asked him, inwardly laughing at her own use of words. "You and I, we're not the opposite sides of the coin, more like...two different sovereigns in the same coinpurse. It's not about the Inquisition appealing to either side, or even the Chantry for that matter. It's about becoming bigger than both. It's about all of _them_ flocking to _us_. It's not about living up to a certain ideology. We _are_ the ideal. The others may turn their head toward the Breach in the sky, and they can _see_ it. But we are standing right underneath of it, Commander. _Of one mind shall the flock follow_."

     "My word." huffed Cullen with a bit of a laugh. "You sound like Cassandra."

     Dove leaned her head a little and smiled. "I like her. She's a bit callous, maybe over zealous, but she is a 'Seeker of Truth'. She seeks the _true_ threat, just like the rest of us. Though I must say...her voice...a little hard on the ears."

     Cullen laughed. "It is for everyone else as well, Herald." He drained his cup and set it on the table. "So, this gift of yours. How does it work? Is it magic, or...are you just that sensitive?"

     Oh she could definitely hear the sarcasm in that question. She folded her arms and grinned. "You'd better watch yourself, Commander. I might just start to like you."  
 


	7. Landing on a Thin Branch

     "Tell me more about color." 

     She had requested this with a tone of innocence, though the inquiry was almost lost on Cullen. He was still stunned by some of the things Dove said to him. It sounded like him, quite frankly, as if he were someone else, listening to his own thoughts spoken aloud. Very forthright, and quite the opposite to what she had been in the Chantry. Not fearful, or defensive, or shy. But an individual of conviction, and...she almost sounded like the Divine herself. Justinia could command an audience with but a whisper, she was so profound, and the 'saarebas', as she said, that sat across from him, spoke barely above a whisper. And how it commanded his full attention.

     He had informed Leliana and Josephine of his present absence, and instructed his lieutenant to resume training with the recruits, and send word if he needed Cullen, before reluctantly entering the tavern. And when he did, he couldn't help but stare for a moment, assessing Dove. Just as he had upon first meeting her, but this time with the full acceptance of how different she was from him, and the knowledge of just what exactly was different about her. A magical individual he supposed he could accept. He had been ready for peace, ready to put the past behind him when Justinia held the summit, ready to find a new way to live his own life. Ready for a new outlook on the war that raged in the distance. A Qunari he could accept, he supposed, knowing the value of their strength, their perseverance, their courage, ingrained in them, as akin to them as blood and bone. They slayed dragons, and by the Maker, some people even believed they _were_ dragons. A powerful people.

     But a savior that could not see her hand in front of her?

     Still, he hesitated with an answer to her request, unsure of what to say. How could he explain that her hair was as pure as the snow, or that her eyes held the same captivating color, when she could not see the confusion in his. Confusion that such a creature could exist, with such clarity, softspoken words that were more fierce than any battle cry, and the strangest thought to overshadow them all. That aside from her horns, she was so... _human_? How in Andraste's name could he explain that?

     He shifted in his chair, resting his forehead on his hand.

     "Hmm." he thrummed, coming up with something. "Take...a dove, for example." he said as he raised his head, and then leaned back. "What does it have in common with a lamb?"

     "Well, nothing, really." she answered. "A dove is a bird. Flies in the air. A lamb is the offspring of sheep." she wrinkled her brow in thought. "One has feathers, the other has fur." she mumbled. "A bird has claws, whereas a sheep has hooves. Birds have beaks to peck. Sheep chew their cud with teeth. A bird lays eggs, while a sheep gives birth..." she shrugged.

     "But both are as white as snow." Cullen finished for her, making her expression turn to mild confusion and interest, her eyes flitting over the table, as if searching for something, solving a problem in her head.

     "Something a person has to see, I imagine." she said. "So...snow is white too? That explains a lot." her face formed a curious smile. "You know, someone once asked me why I always sit next to a window, when I cannot see out of it. You know what I said?"

     "What?" Cullen inquired.

     "What's a window?" she grinned. He laughed at that. "Unlike _you_ , he didn't get the joke. He actually took few minutes out of his day to tell me that 'a window is a pane of glass, invisible to the eye, as fragile as ice, but as solid as stone, and unlike a door, one can tell what is on the other side without opening it'. I told him it sounded like the Veil." she brushed away a small strand of hair that fell to her face. "I don't suppose a 'straight-laced, no nonsense' soldier like you cares to hear of such metaphors." she frowned a little. Repeating Leliana's words earlier in the Chantry.

     "Leliana said that about me. She called me that word for word. You could hear that?" he inquired. She nodded. That explained some things. No keeping secrets from her, apparently. He swallowed nervously. "I don't suppose you'd forgive me for the things I said without thought, would you?"

     "There's nothing to forgive." she shook her head a little. "That was then and this is now." she assured.

     "So...why _do_ you sit next to windows, then?" he asked. "I'm curious."

     "They're warm." she said fondly.

     "Warm? Are you sure you know what warm is then?" he chuckled. "It _is_ a sheet of glass, not a fire." She waved off his words. Then she sat up straight, holding out her hand.

     "Take off your glove and give me your hand." she said slowly and gently. As if asking a small child, with careful words. This was new, he had to admit. Born of curiosity, he did as instructed, placing his hand in hers, which she slowly brought up to the window, pressing his palm to the glass, and his fingers spread across it. Cold, of course, as was expected. He wondered what she meant to do, before rolling his eyes a little.

     "I do believe you're pulling my leg, Herald." he smirked. She shushed him.

     "Just wait." she whispered. He let out a small sigh at that.

     "For what?" he whispered back, feeling utterly foolish. She paused for just a moment.

     "The sun." she grinned. Just as the sunlight peeked behind the clouds, casting it's light inside. Slowly, with every second passing, he could start to feel the pane of glass warm up against his hand. Of course. Even with the cold of winter, and the flurry of snow that began to fall outside, there was indeed warmth, and how it vexed him suddenly. That she knew the sun would be there. And didn't even touch the glass herself.

     "You can feel that without even touching it?"

     "Yes." she answered the words he didn't realize he said aloud.

     "Maker, that's...extraordinary." he said, taking his hand away from the window, letting it rest on the table as he stared out of it. "Is it magic? Is...that what you meant by feeling things others cannot fathom?" he asked. She shook her head.

     "No. It's more like feeling water pour into a cup, when it reaches the rim and spills over. Everything has a sound, a scent, a feel to it when you touch it. Everything moves forward, backward, upward, and away, but stays in place, everything has a vibration, like music one can feel inside them, instead of just hearing it alone. Subtle, slight. When you put your ear to the ground, you can hear a horse's hoof beat, before you hear it on the wind. But I...don't have to stoop to do so. I can feel it. When you lean your head, I can feel it. When you wave you arm, I can feel it. Your heart beat is a drum. Your words...an earthquake." She smiled a little, leaning her own head, hair falling in her face. "It's _not_ magic, Templar." she assured with a grin. "Oh, sorry, _former_ Templar, my mistake." she jeered. "Don't think I can't sense your uneasiness, Commander."

     He huffed. "Mild uneasiness, Herald." he corrected with a wicked smile. "More fascination at the moment than anything. And here I was thinking you were a mage so in tune with the Fade you didn't need to see to fight." he mused, rubbing his chin. "You're just...in tune with everything else."

     "Oh but there is truth in that." she said. "I can sense magic as well. All mages can. But none of them quite like me." she boasted. She straightened her shoulders, holding up her head with an air of pride for a moment.

     "So...you can sense the Breach?" he asked, without thinking, causing her wayward smile to slowly turn to a frown, uneasiness of her own, shifting in discomfort, moving to hide her left hand in her lap, suddenly disturbed.

     "Yes...and no." she admitted. "I know exactly where it is in the sky without searching for it, but...I cannot sense its meaning." she said fearfully. Interesting.

     "How do you mean?" he asked her. She hesitated, biting her lip.

     "It feels unnatural, just like the mark on my hand. Like demons. Ever wonder why we're only hearing of demons falling from the Breach, and nothing else? No uncorrupted spirits? Pride, Anger, Fear, I felt them. But what of Love? Wisdom? Courage?" she asked. "Where are they? We have the mind and body, but where is the soul of the thing?"

     "You can sense demons? Before, or after the Breach?" he wasn't sure if he wanted the answer to that but he had to know.

     "Before." she answered, wary of his reaction just as he of the answer. "That's how I learned better than to let myself be corrupted by them. I sort of...understand them. But...they don't understand me." she said, making Cullen lean back in his chair. "But why only demons? Why only despair, and no hope, Commander? I don't understand." she sighed. "Maybe I didn't do it. I couldn't. It breaks my heart to feel it."

     "You know interesting things of the Fade." he said to her, and she slumped a little. "I wonder if the elven Apostate might not have the answer to such things. It sounds to me as if you believe something corrupted the Fade itself, Herald."

     "I do. But I don't think Solas would be very helpful. From what I can tell, he's just as baffled as the rest of us. Though...he is hiding something. Might want to watch him. Discreetly." she raised a brow as she whispered. "He can't feel things like I can, but he knows things."

     "He's been useful so far, as he helped us figure out the mess with _you_ since you fell out of the Fade." Cullen shrugged. "You don't trust him?"

     "More like I don't understand him. My word...I _am_ opinionated, aren't I?" She looked up at him, not seeing him of course, but her eyes met his again. An odd feeling, to think that she was literally _incapable_ of judging him or anyone at face value. He wasn't used to it. It made him feel vulnerable. It made him feel guilty as well. He sighed.

     "As am I." he admitted. "Too much as of late. And I've been giving my opinion about you to the wrong people. I should have given it to you in the first place. I'll owe you for that, I suppose."

     "And your opinion of me?" she inquired of him, and though he expected the question, he almost didn't know what to say.

     "You completely vex me, Herald." he said. It made her smile.

     "See? Best friends already, Commander. The feeling's mutual." she chuckled.

     He couldn't help but smile back at her. Wishing she could see it.

     "What's your true name?" he asked, changing the subject, making her lean back, and unfortunately making her crawl back into herself once more, closing herself up. Like an animal shrinking away. Suddenly making him wonder how terrible of a name it was if she didn't want to say it. Or what crime she had done that she was reluctant to share her true identity. "I could play the Inquisition's Commander card and say the information's vital to us, but...I just want to know." he said earnest.

     "I could tell you but it wouldn't change anything." she said solemnly, actually moving to get up from the chair then, and part ways.

     "You said that before." he muttered, knowing she could hear him, and she turned around. She walked back toward him, slowly and gracefully.

     "Basalit." she said quietly, as if confessing her crime, then turned and left the tavern quite fervently.

     Vexed, indeed. And rightly so.  
 


	8. Updraft

     Like the slow and steady burn of warm embers, before they surge forward, rolling over a branch, riddled with light, though sometimes unexpected, seemingly random sparks of flame, until igniting completely, engulfing the branch, peeling away the bark, turning it to ash...That was the aura of Cullen's personality. When he was not angered, or agitated, his words carried themselves to Dove's ears like a long awaited tidal wave crashing the shore, washing over her, swallowing her up. The earth slowly opening, to reveal a wide canyon, into which she seemed to fall, like a bird folding in its wings, for an endless drop. The drum of his heart...the quake of his words. She was fascinated by it. She wondered what it meant. To have a man speak truth to her, but yet not know his true intent, not entirely...was baffling.

     She didn't particularly enjoy the voices of most humans, spoken at full volume, but his she could endure. He walked with confidence, though he did slightly favor his right leg from time to time, as if never fully recovering from an old injury, and he hid it well, did not let it effect him. He tended to rub the back of his neck a lot when he was in thought, or unsure of something. She could hear and feel his armored wrist brush against his overcoat, and the smallest scrape of metal. That man slept in his armor, didn't he? Never relaxing for a moment. No wonder he fidgeted so much when they conversed in the tavern. Made sense, considering the whispers of things needed done around camp, and there they sat wasting the day, sort of. He liked to keep busy. Liked to keep himself distracted. Rather than facing the problems at hand. Not problems with her, or the Breach, but his own. The thoughts that bothered him, perhaps. His past maybe.

     He did vex her. She did not claim innocence, or plead her case in any way as far as matters of the Breach, as she had no proof, either in or against her favor, as she couldn't remember. And yet he did not condemn her, not completely. She supposed because she was useful, provided they acquire the power needed to manipulate the mark. But he didn't have to apologize to her like he did, and she never forced his hand to meet her in the tavern. He owed her nothing. She didn't owe him anything either, not personally. She owed Thedas as a whole, a nation, in duress if she sat idle and did nothing.

     He had been a Templar, and while he shifted in his seat when she spoke of her magical senses, he did not compare her to other Apostates that outright rejected the Harrowing like most Chantry members would. At a guess, something prior to the Conclave had changed this man. Had made him willing to lay down his sword, and now, with the Breach looming ever near them at Haven, made him willing to listen. At least to her. Evident by his words when she tested his reserve, and accused him of mistrusting her because she was a mage.

     Oh he was certainly unique among humans. For reasons no one could understand. In light of everything taking place around Dove, she was glad to have found a kindred spirit within him, from out of the depths. Now, if only she could read his mind. A power she had yet to ever master. She smiled ruefully in thought of it, as she hid inside her cabin. She gave him her name, and it changed nothing between them, but she never said if that would be a bad thing. If he did know what it meant, he might like it. One never knew. It sounded nice, anyway. But he didn't know what it meant to her.

     She just hoped she could keep it that way.

* * *

     "This is all very interesting, Commander." spoke the Seeker, slowly, never looking up from the spot she stared at on the table. A dagger, that pinned a corner of the map in place, as she listened to him, Leliana, and Josephine explain Dove's uniqueness in the counseling chamber. Some of Cullen's conversation with Dove in the tavern was shared as well, but only what was necessary. Leliana had resisted at first, but eventually gave in to both Cullen and the ambassador convincing her to let Cassandra in on things.

     "So that is why the three of you have been whispering to me like a demon is outside our door for the last half an hour." she looked up to cast her unamused gaze upon them. A small disgusted groan escaped her lips. "At least you're telling me now. But I want to hear it from her."

     "She doesn't want anyone to know, Lady Cassandra." said Josephine. "She views it as a crutch, most likely. She does not want pity. She believes the information she gave us of her will change nothing. But it may undoubtedly change everything. Push the Chantry further from us, I'm afraid. Perhaps ignite the rumor that she was cursed by the Breach, punished, rather than blessed by the Maker, and further suspicion." she fiddled with her quill. "It wouldn't be hard to do, considering she's not loyal to the Chantry, in any way."

     "I wouldn't be so sure of that, Josie." muttered Leliana. "From what Cullen just told us, she sounds as likeminded as us. For better or worse, I can confirm that some of what she said to us is truth. Justinia herself asked for the Valo-kas to attend the Conclave. They sent her, among their people, _knowing_ what she is, she said. She was there on purpose, not by accident. For whatever faith she has. And she has not outright denied _any_ faith whatsoever. She is Vashoth, after all. And Qunari faith does not dictate her actions."

     "She sounds like her." Cullen muttered. "She sounds like Justinia. You should have heard her."

     "Do you think Justinia might have asked for her specifically?" Josephine asked. "That she trusted her, personally?"

     "Not that either of us ever knew of." Cassandra answered for Leliana. "Though they could have met at the summit. Her words could be that of Justinia's, her directive to carry out the Divine's wish until Justinia returns. A matter I'm greatly invested in, if so."

     "So she _could_ be Andrastian." Josephine remarked.

     "Possibly." said Cullen. "But the way she worded it...it didn't sound like she plans to appeal to the Chantry, turn the Inquisition towards an alliance under Andrastian faith. But rather...get them to appeal to her. The Chantry, the Templars, the rebels...all of them. All of us. United. But for what? Besides combating the Breach? If this was Justinia's directive, than she knew the Breach would open, and I highly doubt that. The Divine would never open the world to such chaos intentionally."

     "Unintentionally then?" Josephine inquired. "Could she have sought the Herald's counsel, seeking another way to unite the people, should all else fail, and Dove really did open the Breach, for that reason, expecting everyone to lay down their sword for one another for the greater problem?" she sighed. "Incredulous. But she did call herself a 'failsafe'."

     Cassandra sighed. "Without Justinia, there's nothing to dispute her claim, or any information she gave us. I'm still not convinced she wasn't seeking to gather information for outside sources." She looked around at them briefly. "She is a hired mercenary, as far as we know, and even if she truly had no personal gain in the Conclave, someone else might have, and paid her handsomely for information. If so, I want to know who."

     "Funny. The Herald has said nothing of money, of seeking her payment for attending." Cullen stated. "Either her freedom is enough for her, or she doesn't care about money."

     "Words to chew on, I suppose." Josephine raised a brow.

     "And neither has the Valo-kas." said the Sister. "They have yet to inquire of their fallen comrades, if any yet live, or of any information regarding the events at the Temple. My people are still looking into matters." she assured. "I may have a few leads. But nothing yet of Dove's personal history, however." she turned to Cullen. "You said she gave you her true name? Perhaps I can use it. Her family might be willing to give information whereas the kin of her coworkers cant."

     "She said it wouldn't change anything." Cullen shrugged. "She may be an orphan. And I believe her blindness may be the cause to her living out of the Qun. And the Valo-kas accepted her, gave her purpose, found a usefulness for her gifts. I don't think she has anyone else."

     "It's certainly believable." Leliana mulled it over, then turned back to him. Then she gave him a quizzical look. "Perhaps we'll discuss this more at a later time. When I've attained more information."

     He couldn't quite guess the meaning of her expression, but the twinkle in her eye...she was up to something. Given the inability for even the Spymaster to be secretive with spoken word, if Dove could really hear that well, he had a feeling Leliana would try again to press him for information, or would at least have more words to share, when Dove was a safe distance away, in the Hinterlands, looking for the Mother. And in the meantime spend quite a lot of time writing things down instead. The others nodded at her words, and they left their interesting war council.

     Cullen finally exhaled when he was safely in his tent. The sun was going down, and nightly duties were attended to. He could relax, for a moment. Or try to anyway. There was a box on his makeshift desk still. One he didn't want to look at. So he hurriedly picked it up and stuffed it under his cot, out of sight, out of mind. It didn't help much, but it was a start. Then an idea occurred to him. He leaned on the desk, placing both hands flat upon it, standing perfectly still. He closed his eyes.

     At first all he could hear was the 'drum' of his own heart, so slowly he breathed in and out, slowing it down, quieting it to a murmur. Then it came to him, things he couldn't hear a moment ago, because he wasn't paying attention, too distracted by his thoughts and the sight of his desk before him. He heard the hammer on an anvil from Herrit's station. Heard swords being sheathed, the flap of the tent moving in the breeze. He let the sounds wash over him, contemplating their meaning to Dove. It was small in scale, considering she spent the entirety of her life in this state, and he for only a matter of minutes, but it was...eye opening, ironically put.

     He heard the wind whistle, he heard the way footsteps crunched on snow beneath boots. For a moment he heard the crackling of a fire. Varric's campfire up past the main gate, he wagered, followed by coughing from a nearby tent. And for a moment...just one...he could almost start to feel it. The way the ground echoed with the pounding of Herrit's hammer, for just a few more minutes, before he tempered the metal in a bucket of water, the hissing sound it made, setting it on a rack sometime after, walking over to his cabin, shutting the door. Done for the night. After that sound, the caw of a bird in the distance, suddenly drawing his thoughts to the bird with a mark on her hand from the Breach.

     His body tingled. He'd never felt this way before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'd like to take a moment to mention that I am intentionally making each chapter title a bird and/or flying related metaphor, in relation to the chapter text. If anyone wants to take a crack and some of the less obvious ones and their meaning and comment some thoughts on them, I welcome that. The titles are a bit harder to come up with than I thought lol)
> 
> (Also I WILL be taking my sweet, sweet time with this story. Just a warning.)
> 
> (Carry on, folks.)


	9. Birds, Though Not of a Feather

     Oh how they tried to whisper. And they _really_ tried to be discreet. But she could sense the difference in those whispers from others about her throughout the village when she left her cabin in search of food, and she couldn't resist eavesdropping. Mostly what she heard was Cassandra's dour tone when she leaned against the large wooden door at the front of the Chantry, arms folded, their voices making their way to her sensitive ears from all the way across the temple in the council room. There was nothing too ill spoken of her, mainly questions, sensible ones, and a lot of uncertainty in their voices. Cullen didn't rightly defend her, per say, but he made some interesting points the others couldn't deny. She smiled a little. He was right, her freedom was enough for her, and no, she didn't care about the money. The others had, and she understood it was business to them...but it hadn't been to her.

     She moved away from the door when she heard them make their way across the floor, walking briskly out of their line of sight, but unfortunately to the distinct smell of an elven mage, who was leaning against a cabin, close to the potions master's quarters. She heard the scrape of cloth against wooden planks, moving to stand upright when she drew near. He noticed her, and was now looking right at her, so she slowly walked right past him as he spoke, moving to lean against the stone enclosure nearby, lifting her face to eye the sky. Cullen did say his help and information was vital so far. Maybe it couldn't hurt to talk to him...or, rather, tolerate him talking to her. He need not know her true intent.

     "The Chosen of Andraste." he greeted her. "A blessed hero sent to save us all." A little mock to his tone, but mostly admiration, and interest. He too saw this rumor that spread as an opportunity for them. Curious of a thing.

     "I didn't ask for any title," she assured, "But someone has to close the Breach, and right now it seems it must be me. I will accept my path, revered or not, falon." she said this quite casually, causing him to hum a little in response to her words as he moved to stand beside her, and also lean against the stone. His footsteps were quiet, careful, as was his voice. Heart beat calm and steady. Only mildly interested that she knew an elven term, attempting to ignore it, as if it were inconsequential to him.

     "Spoken nobly indeed." he said with a calm but confident voice. His accent was quite interesting to her, soft words. She could stand to hear his voice at least, without feeling like her head would cave in. "You think I'm mocking you." he said when she didn't respond to his words. "This age has made people cynical." No, it wasn't that. More like trying to ascertain if he could sense that she was blind, more or less, as he said nothing so far to indicate either way. "I've journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields," he said then, sparking slight interest, "To see the dreams of lost civilizations. I watched as hosts of spirits clashed to reenact the bloody past, in ancient wars both famous and forgotten. Every great war has it's heroes. I'm just curious of what kind you will be."

     "If you journey that deep into the Fade, I wonder if you might find something better left alone, falon." she murmured, her voice no more than a whisper to him, most likely. "Just like in this world, not all we find dreaming in the Fade is glorious." This produced sudden increase in his heart rate. Protective of the Fade? Or interested in what she saw in it? But he glazed over it, not knowing his words did nothing to hide the truth from her. He had not expected her to admit she entered the Fade in her dreams as well, and rather than go by what she saw in it, like he did, she let the feel of it guide her. So, he did not see her in the Fade? Did not sense her in his dreams? She never sensed him either, furthering her belief that something was changing within the Fade. Something neither of them could name just yet.

     "I do take precautions to avoid possession," he assured her evenly. "I have no wish to become a demon's tool. In the same light, be cautious here, friend. Cassandra's protection only lasts, so long as she's alive." he forewarned, urging her to be careful as well. Then he changed his tune. "It will be interesting to watch this fledging Inquisition make its way. I will stay to see it. For now."

     "Was that in doubt?" she asked.

     "I _am_ an Apostate mage, surrounded by Chantry forces, and unlike you I do not have a divine mark protecting me." he admitted. "Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution." she nodded just a little at his words.

     "I do." she said. "Cassandra trusts you." she relented to him. "She won't let anyone put you in a Circle against your will. Your talents are valuable." she sighed. "As for me, she _will_ do what is necessary, I imagine. 'Divine' mark or not. Until we know for certain, she is right not to trust me."

     "Hmm. You truly believe that this could be your doing, then?" he asked. "She who greets in elvish, who walks more peacefully among other nations than her own, I see, and with fluent words, not the tongue of her own people, who lives outside of their walls, no interest in them, and sees no purpose for herself with them, I imagine." she nodded. "All very intriguing. But you do have purpose, at least. Perhaps this is it." He pushed himself away from the wall, ready to depart. "For now, let us hope that either the mages or Templars have the power to seal the Breach." he commented before walking away.

     Hope, indeed. The mark was certainly not Circle magic, and not like any magic she'd felt before, ancient perhaps, but it was new territory for everyone involved. Though here was an elf who was fascinated by her, interested in the fact that she would become a hero to Thedas, that she should close the Breach permanently, perhaps curious as to what would follow after, what course the world would set upon. Inclined to believe the mark was a blessing, that she was chosen? But why? Or did he assume she believed it was granted by Anstraste or the Maker, because she was not Qunari, and he meant to ease worries or doubts. He was not like the Dalish, not like city elves either, but living outside the boundaries of the Chantry just as she lived outside the boundaries of the Qun, as he implied. He had her pegged perfectly on a lot, as she imagined he would, but he struggled with the reason why. He could not comprehend it. Why she walked more easily among mankind, elvhen, dwarven, and not her own. That was some relief, that he didn't know, otherwise his words would have rolled to her with a much different sound than what they did, and no doubt ask her why she lived such a way, with secrets, instead of accepting herself for what she was. Either that or he didn't care.

     But he saw a kinship within her, perhaps because they were both Apostates as well, attuned to the Fade, as they had nothing else in common. Unlike Cullen, he really did judge her purely for being a mage. If she were not, and therefore unable to comprehend his discussion, or if she had outright accused him of tampering with dangerous magic, or something similar, he would not have engaged in conversation with her at all. Either way, it mattered little to her, as judging by his body language, he also sensed something off within the Fade, but he did not know what it was. Otherwise, he would tell her. She was sure of it. She could be wrong, but only time would tell. For the moment, she stuffed the minor jealousy that he could actually _see_ to the far recesses of her mind. Watching ancient battles in the Fade? She scoffed at it. He thought it was beautiful and glorious, seeing a world full of heroes, judging by the awe in his voice, because he did not know he stood next to a mage who could feel a spirit's pain, as if it were her own.

     And now she felt their agony. And they blamed _her_. She desperately needed to know why, because regardless of it being truth or falsehood, as much as the Breach reeked havoc upon Thedas, the demons she slayed made her feel like the Fade was in anguish as well. They lashed out in their pain, forced against their purpose, taking their pain out on her, because they had no one else to blame, and the mark was on her hand, believing she the culprit. Spirits were turned by the fallacies of the living, but what could be strong enough to turn a demon? Surely a thing to be feared. Surely something she needed to remember.  
   
   
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I was unsure about this excerpt, because of the fact that Dove knows something is different about Solas, but she does not know his true identity, and unsure of how to describe the conversation from her unique standpoint, but I tried. I'm still not sure about it, but I wanted to slowly work in Dove's unique perception of the Fade, compared to Solas' talks of dreaming in it, and how she feels about it. I may expand on this later, and add some non-canon between Dove and Solas on the subject.)
> 
> (This may be edited, or rewritten later.)


	10. The Night Owl

     Varric was so easy to talk to. His voice was low, a little gravelly, like was expected from dwarves, but his words were easy to swallow. Sarcastic, humorous, but sincere. So far he seemed to be a realist, and for the most part said what was on his mind, but he could tell something was wrong with Dove, and it had nothing to do with the magic latched to her left hand. Though he didn't outright say it, it seemed he was more likely to discover she was blind. He was no mage, as dwarves were for the most part nearly incapable of magic, but he had a strong intuition. It was all in the way he moved, that was the telltale sign. She liked him. Liked the way he sounded and smelled. She heard Cassandra's sounds of disgust at his jokes and smug behavior as she walked by him to leave out the main gate, and she could hear Varric's laughter after the Seeker.

     "Well if it isn't the Wall of Ice herself." he said, as she walked up next to him and 'stared' at the sky, the Breach, lingering above. She smiled a little at his remark, but he couldn't see it. "At least now I know it's nothing personal. From what I can tell you're giving everyone the cold shoulder around here. That's just how you are, I can live with that." he sighed at her lack of response to his words, and stood closer. "So," he began more quietly, "Now that Cassandra's out of earshot, are you holding up alright? I mean you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful." he had to be raising a brow. "Most people would've spread that out over more than one day."

     "True." she agreed. "And...I apologize for my behavior, Varric. If I seem cold. This...was not how things were meant to be. This Breach, all those people lost. Any of it. It's...a lot to take in." she sighed. "But did you know that you're the first person to actually ask that? To ask how I'm holding up? I appreciate that." she smiled, leaning her head his way for just a moment, so he could see it, before turning back to the Breach. "In truth, I just can't believe I'm still standing after all of that." she nodded to the Breach.

     "I still can't believe you survived Cassandra." he chuckled. "You're lucky you were out cold for most of her frothing rage." he paused for a moment. "For days now we've been staring at the Breach watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. 'Bad for morale' would be an understatement. I still can't believe anyone was in there and lived."

     "Why did you stay?" she asked him. "I heard Cassandra say you were free to go." she shrugged. "More or less anyway."

     "The same reason you're still here, probably." he laughed. "I'd like to think I'm just as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy, but this?...Thousands of people died on that mountain. I was almost one of them. And now there's a hole in the sky. Even I can't walk away and just leave that to sort itself out."

     "See, that's why I like you." she admitted to him, with a wide grin.

     "Really?" he asked in disbelief. "I didn't think you liked _anyone_." She could feel his smile. She chuckled.

     "I'm still not sure I believe that any of this is really happening. Could be a dream. Or we could all be dead, or something, and this is limbo. People aren't supposed to fall out of rifts. Maybe I died as well in the blast, and the Fade spat me back out." she shrugged.

     "Eh." he waved it off. "You're not dead. Or a monster, Snowflake. Just...different. I'm just glad you're on our side of things. Though if this is all just the Maker winding us up, I hope there's a damn good punch line coming. You might want to consider running at the first opportunity, kid, I've written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going. Heroes are everywhere, I've seen that, but the hole in the sky? That's beyond heroes. We're going to need a miracle."

     "I couldn't agree more." Dove said quietly, absentmindedly rolling around in her mind Varric calling her a snowflake. Cullen said snow was 'white'. Oh, she was never going to get it, was she? At least she was now understanding that half the Valo-kas were screwing with her all those years.

     The sun was starting to set. It felt like that time of day, and she could feel the slow change in temperature brought by the gradual approach of dusk. She should be finding her way to supper and then to bed. She had much to discuss with the Sister in the morning. Perhaps, though she couldn't tell her everything, maybe there were some things she could share with her, that might ease the woman's mind. Though she hid it well, more than anyone in Haven, Dove could still feel Leliana's heart in her chest, telling her the truth. That she desperately wanted to believe that this was the will of the Maker. She could very well be the one who started the rumors, for that reason. But would she do something like that? Dove highly doubted, but...

     She bid Varric farewell for the moment, and silently wished peace would find him. It seemed everyone here wanted an end to all of this, and everyone expected her to be that end. Varric himself just wanted to be able to sleep, as did Dove. She found her way to the cabin that night, full and sated, and ready for rest. But it wouldn't come. She had techniques to still her mind each evening of the sounds and smells that kept her awake, but one particular sound she heard was not one she expected. The nightwatchmen slowly patrolled the gate, their footsteps making the wooden ramparts creak from their weight. The wind howled, the spirits whispered their way across the frozen lake, and snow fell lightly to the ground. But somewhere, beyond the main gate, inside a tent, she could hear strange sounds. Heavy breathing, whispers, coming from a man, calling out in his dreams. No one else in Haven could hear it, but she could.

     She could hear the Commander having a nightmare in his sleep.

     No one said she couldn't leave the village unattended, and since she was released from imprisonment and named an agent of the Inquisition, she assumed she could. Though she wouldn't go without notice, of course, and informed the guardsmen at the gate she meant to take a stroll, and clear her head. They let her right though, and she walked off into the trees. From there, she quietly listened to Cullen's dream, trying to make sense of it. Such quiet murmurs, that not even anyone in the tents nearby noticed, either that or they were just heavy sleepers. But none of the watchmen noticed either. Could it be that some of them had heard him fret in his sleep before, and simply overlooked it? Did this happen often then? She couldn't be sure, so she just crouched in the snow and listened.

     "Don't...please don't...please stop...I can't..."

     Disturbing words to hear. Someone was hurting him, and she didn't know what to do about it. Wasn't quite sure how anyone would feel about her using magic on him, much less how he would feel about it. And without the ability to sense his true feelings like she could with others, she couldn't be certain if she should intervene in any way. So all she could do was circle back around to the tent, putting it between herself and the gate, out of sight and sound of the guards nearby, and listen. It could be demons, but she sensed no corruption nearby. Only the aura that stemmed from the Breach in the distance. She was so tempted to dreamwalk, but she had only ever done that with the Valo-kas. There was no way she was going to use the Fade to enter this man's dream against his will, or without his permission. Her father always told her such a thing was wicked, because it was too much like what malevolent spirits tried to do with the living, and to do such a thing would mean to become a demon. Or, at least, that was his point of view regarding it.

     No, she wouldn't. Even if it meant helping him in some way, this was his battle to be fought within his mind. Not hers. She would not dishonor a friend, and she'd like to think Cullen was becoming her friend. So instead she prayed. Silently prayed next to his tent, that he would find release from this spiritual chain that bound him, and slipped back into the night.  
   
 


	11. Finding True North

     Dove was a morning person, much to everyone's dismay. Not the kind of person who could wake bright eyed and bushy tailed at the sound of the bell, but the kind of morning person that drags the Inquisition's advisers out of bed before the crack of dawn, and up to the Chantry before breakfast. The sun wasn't even out yet. Apparently being blind meant her internal sense of time didn't exactly match up to normal people either. Cullen sleepily rubbed his eyes as he marched heavy footed to the Chantry doors. He hadn't been up this early since his induction into the Order, he thought this to himself, grumbling as he pushed the door open. And he thought Templar dictates were strict. Maybe Dove should be training recruits, not him.

     But he couldn't say 'no' to her, as part of her mission for the Inquisition would be gaining advice from him and the others on how to use her title to spread influence, gain allies, as well as sharing information with the inner circle. But she had some things to say to them, she said, and needed council with the advisers, details on Mother Giselle's whereabouts and how to handle the situation on their behalf. And now that they knew her secret, and she and Cullen 'set aside their differences', their attempt at council the day before could actually continue, she said.

     Leliana was awake, sort of, but Josephine wasn't, evident by the way strands of hair came loose from her braids, and the circles under her eyes. She pressed flat the wrinkles in her dress, evidence that she stayed up far too late the night before, and fell asleep at her desk, and there were small dots on her palm from spilled ink. Poor thing. But she and the Spymaster righted themselves at Dove's approach, who stood composed, arms folded behind her back like a soldier at attention, not a strand of hair out of place, a calm, collected expression enveloping her interesting features. 

     Her normally glittering white eyes, though dimmed inside the chamber in the candlelight, were attentive, her thin, but shapely arched brows, matching in color to her dark lashes, full lips drawn into a serious frown. A vision of purpose and intent. A smooth draw from chin, to cheek, to pointed ears, that held two silver rings in each. Funny that he noticed that now. That she was beautiful, for a Qunari, and it was hard to imagine why she was a mercenary, and not bedded down by another with children by now. Surely a Vashoth made that choice for themselves. Unless, much like hornlessness was viewed as intimidating, blindness was seen as a defect to Qunari. Unattractive to others with horns on their heads. That would explain some things, if so. Cullen found it most curious.

     Josephine grabbed her quill and parchment, but Dove put up a hand to stop her.

     "Before we begin, there is something I must say to you all." she said gently. "No need to write it down, my lady." she said to Josephine, who smirked, just a little, at the respectful use of etiquette. Josephine obliged her request and put the paper down. Dove took a deep breath.

     "I know you have questions, and though I cannot answer everything, and it may not ease your mind, nevertheless I will tell you what I know of myself. Though there isn't much to tell, I'm afraid." she turned to walk over to the bookshelf, not to eye the books on it, but to find words. "I do not know my family name, it was never given to me, but...I was called Basalit, when I was born." she turned back to Cullen, specifically, for a moment, probably sensing his inner debate over sharing her name. 

     She started to pace. "My mother died in childbirth, and I was raised by my father until I was ten. He was also Vashoth. A mage. He taught me all he could until he was killed." she swallowed, nervously. "He was killed right in front of me. His pursuers did not know I was blind, and could not see him die." she raised a brow. "They left me alive, too honorable in nature to kill a defenseless child, but it was no mercy. They left me for dead, in the middle of nowhere, with no one, far from any civilization, human or otherwise. I did not know where I was. I was forced to fend for myself...Where I had no sight, every other sense took over. I became an animal. I had no language, aside from what my father taught me, and to me, there was no difference between myself and any other creature in the wild. I knew no better. I...became no more."

     "How did you survive?" Leliana asked, the only one of them who wasn't too stunned to speak by the words that fell out of Dove's mouth with such volition. She sighed, smiling a little, with sadness in her wayward gaze.

     "I embraced it." she answered. "I learned to feel the world around me, every sound, every smell, every taste on the wind. I followed instinct. I followed the creatures inhabiting the forest around me, and learned from their habits, to find food, to sense danger. Did you know that nugs are exceptionally intelligent?" she asked offhand, with a bit of a chuckle. "Until I was finally found by some travelers. None other than members of the Valo-kas. I had learned to trust my gut and stay away from other people but...they smelled different. They took me into their care, teaching me what they knew, and in turn...I taught them. I took their skills, their senses, and made them better. I travelled, learning languages and customs, and learned that as much as I could sense from the wild, I could sense in other people as well. As I can sense a bird pushing off a branch to take flight, I could sense the discord. When the rebellion erupted I was hired for a family's protection outside of Ostwick, and when I learned of the Conclave, I offered to attend with others of my company. Should Justinia succeed with the summit, it would have changed everything, for everyone, not just loyals, or the rebels involved. I am an Apostate, and it would have meant everything to me. If peace was attained, I could finally live among people, maybe even find my family, but..."

     "I am so sorry so many ill things have happened to you, Herald." said Josephine in earnest. Dove shook her head.

     "I am owed no apology, but it is I who must apologize, that I do not have more to tell. If sharing this somehow eases your worries, or helps you understand, I am grateful. I will help the Inquisition in anyway I can, whatever it takes, and ask for nothing beyond necessity. Though there is but one thing I must request." she turned back to them from the bookshelf, as she spoke with sincerity, turning to show her eyes glittered, her expression turning quite serious. "Once the Breach is sealed...if you learn that I am responsible for all of this, I want him to kill me." she nodded to Cullen. His heart skipped. A dire request. "No trial, no calling in favors. Behead me, and burn my body until there is nothing to be remembered, then throw my ashes into whatever body of water you find, to be forgotten."

     "You speak with passion and conviction of our cause, and yet you want us to kill you?" Leliana asked. "Why the Commander?" Dove shrugged.

     "Because he'll do it." she answered. "I will _not_ be falsely remembered as a hero, even if I _can_ close the Breach." she spat. "Now, to business then? Where might I find Mother Giselle?" she turned her head back and forth between the three of them. Suddenly quite fierce, and burning with an unquenchable fire, though the outside as white as snow, the inside a seething red, so deep in color and intent it almost swallowed them whole. A dove in color, yet...a phoenix within.

     There it was. What he had yet to see. The Qunari within an otherwise soft-spoken, smiling, and compassionate Vashoth. What he had only seen once before, at the Temple the moment she closed her eyes and decimated the monstrosities of the Breach. Well then. If she asked for _him_ specifically to kill her, if necessary, that meant she trusted _him_ to do the right thing, if no one else. He could overlook the fact that a mage just requested that an ex-Templar slay her, which did make him shudder a little. He...was actually honored. What an interesting day this was going to be, after she left. And interesting days to follow, he was sure.

* * *

     Dove felt a bit of relief, but she wasn't done yet with the relieving of others. Leliana among them was still disturbed. They had yet to ask the question that was on everyone's lips, accepting the situation as it was, but...those among the Inquisition that needed her faith, like Leliana, needed to know. It was no simple 'yes' or 'no' answer, and she had to make them understand that, whether they asked or not. Leliana finished her conversation with her scout, feeding her an inconsequential report, one that might be necessary later, but was still heresay at the moment. She sighed after he left, her only outward indication that on the inside she was a nervous wreck, as she was the essence of composure to these people. She had seen things, done things, and now struggled with her faith, with her...humanity, Dove supposed, and struggled with her purpose, with their purpose, as agents scrambling to combat the Breach. She knelt before her cot, and murmured her prayer, not noticing the silent steps of the Herald drawing nearer. She finished her prayer to look up and see Dove.

     "You hold yourself in contempt, agent." she said as she arose. "You do not believe Andraste blessed you? Do you really think yourself capable of all this?" she gestured to the direction that the Breach loomed above.

     "I hold myself in contempt because I do not remember what happened, Sister." Dove replied to her question. "But...I do remember _before_ the Conclave, if it eases you. I remember meeting Justinia."

     "You met the Divine? You did speak to her?" Leliana's sparked interest was evident with that. Dove nodded.

     "With the Chantry's permission, I arrived early to the proceedings with three others, to familiarize myself with the Temple's walls. Memorizing hallways and counting steps helps me to 'maneuver as though with sight', allowing me to blend in and keep an eye on proceedings with complete focus. Justinia asked to speak with me, and asked to know my faith." Dove exhaled, feeling the way Leliana ever so slightly thrummed in anticipation of Dove's following words. "I told her 'They say seeing is believing, so what does that mean to a person who cannot see?' She did not ask if I was blind, or made any lecture of Andrastian faith, but instead she said, 'There is power in the masses. Of one mind shall all of the flock follow their shepherd. But we are not of one mind, and so we are _all_ blind to the Maker's plan.'"

     "So what do you intend to do with that?" Leliana asked, only slight sarcasm in her tone. "Unite the people under a new banner, or under your own faith? Push them into a new one? A _better_ faith?"

     "No. Push them onto a better _path_. If I can." Dove answered.

     "I suppose that will have to be enough, then." the Sister said, before turning away from her. Dove nodded once more and walked away. Her words eased the Sister's mind well enough, and that was the intent. Her heart slowed. Though, she could not explain outright the doubts she possessed. Or confirm to Leliana of her faith, or lack thereof. That she had prayed that if there was a Maker, or anything at all to believe in, a higher power watching over her, that maybe they would grant her sight, so that she could believe. She could not admit outright that she _saw_ in the Fade, that she did believe she was there, in the flesh, and something brought her out of it. Because she didn't know if it was real or not. That she _could_ see, but she still did not understand what she was meant to believe. But she had been granted a purpose, it seemed, as Solas confirmed. Funny, that he sensed her longing for one.

     Cassandra had doubts as well, however, and it was easier to speak to her. The woman's heart was still as stricken as Haven over the Conclave. She hacked and slashed at something when Dove approached. Add that to the overwhelming sounds of soldiers training and Dove had to stand perfectly still to keep the sounds from throwing off her balance completely, disrupting her composure. But Cassandra knew she was blind now, and knew she could hear very well. So she stopped slashing the minute she saw Dove approach, and quietly huffed, leather groaning as she wiped the sweat from her brow.

     "You're a force of nature, aren't you?" Dove asked with a smile, causing Cassandra to make a slightly audible snort in her throat. 

     "When I need to be." she replied evenly.

     "It's impressive." Dove murmured. "Trust me, it's a compliment, Seeker." she assured. Cassandra sighed.

     "You mean to flatter me. Does that mean what happened in the dungeon is behind us then? Officially?" she asked. Dove nodded.

     Cassandra spoke quietly. Interesting. She believed Dove really was blind, didn't she? She debated for a moment on what to say before releasing a sigh, wiping sweat from her nose.

     "Did I do the right thing?" she asked Dove, concern in her voice. "What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I have revered my whole life. One day they might write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool. And they may be right."

     "What does your faith tell you?" Dove asked her, drawing nearer, curious to the answer. 

     "I believe you _are_ innocent." she replied. "I believe there is more going on here than we can see. And I believe no one else cares to do anything about it. They will stand in the fire, and complain that it is hot." she sighed, drawing her sword up to spar with the post once more, not hit it, but parry with it. "But is this the Maker's will? I can only guess."

     No wonder Cullen said she sounded like Cassandra. Likeminded, indeed.

     "But right now, we deal with the Chantry's panic over you." she turned to Dove. "Before they do even more harm. Then we close the Breach. We are the only one's who can. After that, we find out who is responsible for this chaos, and we end them. And if there are consequences for what I have done, I pay them. From what I hear, Herald, you share this view of it. I only pray the price is not too high, for either of us."

     Well...considering she asked the Commander to behead her...

     "You did what you had to do, Seeker. I would have done the same, in your place. We are people of conviction, it seems." she chuckled. Cassandra huffed a little. This time Dove was certain she was smiling. 

     "My trainers always said, 'Cassandra, you're too brash, you must think before you act.' I see what must be done, and I do it. I see no point in running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. But I misjudged you, in the beginning, did I not? I thought the answer was before me, clear as day. I cannot afford to be so careless again."

     "Perhaps," mused Dove, "But your perceived carelessness _is_ also the reason we know this mark can manipulate rifts, Cassandra. You underestimate your resolve. Though I _am_ grateful to hear that from you."

     She sighed again. "I...can be harsh, I know." she lamented, "I'm curious, Dove. Do you...even believe in the Maker?" she fiddled nervously just then. "I know your kind are not usually of our faith, but-"

     "I am not my people, Cassandra." Dove corrected. "And..." she hesitated with her words. "Maybe...maybe I do believe he exists but..."

     "But you have doubts." Cassandra finished for her. She nodded. "It's...comforting of a thought. Any belief is better than nothing. We all have doubts. Is that why you hesitate to tell the others? That you... _are_ Andrastian?"

     She hit the nail right on the mark. Dove let out a sigh. "I...struggle to believe something I cannot see." she admitted. Cassandra actually laughed a little. Not too much for the others to hear, but loud enough for Dove to hear. Then she stepped closer to her.

     "You are not the only one, Herald. We _all_ struggle with that. You are not alone." she assured. "Perhaps speaking to the Mother will change things for you. You never know. It couldn't hurt." she started to walk away.

     "C-Cassandra." Dove called her attention. She turned back. "Will you go with me? Will you...be my guide, I suppose?"

     "Of course." she said, turning back to her, sheathing her sword, already ready to depart.

     That was interesting. This was twice now that something just rolled off her tongue so easily, that she had kept buried, that she was not condemned for. Once with Cullen, and now her. Perhaps this was a sign. That she need not 'hide in the dark, while others whisper around her', any longer. But of course, only time would tell.  
   
 


	12. Stretching The Wings

     "I can't believe she asked you to _kill_ her." Josephine stammered in disbelief, as she sat with Cullen in her office, after Dove's departure. "That she actually intends you to behead her should she be responsible. With no trial, no question, no chance to even explain or defend herself." she sighed and put her head in her hand. "And that she asked that of _you_ , Commander. Do you think that it's purely because you were a Templar? You...wouldn't really do something like that, would you?" 

     She spilled over with alarm at the thought of killing Dove the second she left the Chantry, and Cullen could only sigh at her words. The woman was all heart, and didn't even know it half the time.

     "Well, not because I was a Templar and she's a mage." he said. Josephine gaped at him still, and he shrugged at her expression. "She obviously believes it's the right thing to do, and trusts that I am capable of handling it. Which means she trusts me." he said to her, folding his arms, not knowing what else to say. She couldn't understand, or see what he saw, and she certainly wasn't there in the tavern in person to overhear that play out either.

     "And that is why you do not wish to tell anyone of the personal things spoken in confidence, just...'what was necessary'?" she asked. And then she sighed. "Well, we can only trust it is for the best, I suppose. You say she can be trusted...and we did take all the necessary precautions with her. Ensuring she was not an abomination, or tainted by the blight..." She counted these with her fingers. "Though, it would be helpful to get a Warden's opinion on her. Leliana says they've gone missing, and we're still waiting to confirm this rumor."

     My this woman could ramble. And fret. And she was right. They did take necessary measures. Under Cullen's supervision. To ensure that it was proper protocol, and not anything unnecessary, or illegal. With proper witnesses, Cassandra included. It was done the right way, and Dove proved herself to be no abomination, or demon, but a living being, only free of the Harrowing, not a drop of Lyrium in her body, indicating she was not like any of the rebels, but a born Apostate, self taught magic. Solas assessed this about her as well, and while they were frantic, trying to revive her after she attempted to contain the Breach, and meanwhile questioning their trust in Solas so willingly helping them, Cullen went with his instinct, and nothing told him she was corrupted, or possessed. And there she was. Free from corruption, and able to connect with the Breach. And she believed she could be a criminal? That she caused all this, instead of her survival, her mark, being a blessing from the Maker? She wasn't taking any chances, it seemed. She wasn't acting by faith. She was acting with purpose.

     There was no way she was responsible, not someone like her. Someone who acted so selfless. Someone who had been so honest, when she didn't have to be. They would have accepted her at face value. A necessity, he supposed, because of her mark. She did not have to try to gain their trust beyond that. It was odd. Making Cullen wonder if someone didn't poison her, or cast a spell on her, to make her have no memory of what happened, so that she would be blamed for it, and set upon the chopping block. And right now the Chantry was blaming her. All too much of a coincidence. And after Leliana telling them Justinia's words to her...

     "The information she gave us of herself is not entirely useless." Josephine commented, bringing Cullen out of thought. "I find her name intriguing. It is Qunlat, I'm sure. A distant cousin of mine used to trade with the Qunari, he picked some of it up. It comes from 'basalit-an'. Roughly translating to 'someone who is not Qunari, though worthy of respect'. I find that interesting. I assume she was given the name because she was born outside of the Qun? Though, why not give her a non Qunari name, if so? If her father was also Vashoth, outside of, or rejecting of the Qun?"

     "Maybe that's why she prefers Dove. Basalit...A double meaning, perhaps?" Cullen asked. Josephine shrugged.

     "Well, the term 'bas' is usually used to describe outsiders, other races, people not recognized by the horned race. It could denote of her lineage, or something similar. It would help to have an ally to the Inquisition who is familiar with the Qun, as Dove made it clear she is not. Raised away from all people? Including her own? Then alone, living like an animal? I could not imagine even a Qunari child surviving such a thing, much less a blind child. It must've been terrible." Josephine slumped in her pity.

     "And to go from that to behaving and speaking so well, understanding so much of the world." Cullen leaned back in his chair. "Though it does explain why she seems nothing like her people. Except for the horns-" he chuckled.

     "-And a few native words-" Josephine added.

     "We can't really call her Qunari, now can we?" he finished.

     She shrugged. "I suppose not. But a Vashoth? Therein lies the question. Tal-Vashoth usually implies someone who willingly steps out of the Qun, Vashoth itself as someone never entering the Qun, or being born to parents who also rejected it. She said her father was also Vashoth. But she's beyond even that. She's..."

     "Homeless." Cullen answered. Josephine looked up at him. "She referred to herself once as being Tal-Vashoth, which means she actively rejects her own race, with or without being introduced to them. She doesn't see herself as having a place among them, whether she wants one or not. She's...alone."

     "I suppose so. Especially since now, she doesn't even have the Valo-kas. If...provided you don't have to kill her...I wonder what she will do, when this is all over? Will she go back to them? She said she wanted to find her family, to live among people. Do you...do you think we should help her find her family? Would she want us to, I wonder?"

     "Well, we could try." Cullen shrugged. "But where do we start? Qunari don't exactly have family trees."

     "We start with her father." said Leliana from the door, startling them both, eavesdropping for a moment before making her entrance. "The Valo-kas is officially a dead end. And I was _thorough_." she slapped a letter on the table. "For all my persuasion and effort, this is what I got. A letter addressed to Dove. Go ahead, open it." she scoured, folding her arms. Slowly Josephine peeled back the previously opened seal and wrinkled her brow.

     "It's blank." she stated. Then she sighed. "Of course, why bother writing a letter to someone who can't see. But, they did not address the Inquisition instead?"

     "Apparently they had nothing to say to us." Cullen remarked. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to something folded up inside the paper. It fell out as he spoke.

     "A dove's feather and an olive branch." Leliana informed, unamused by whatever the joke. "I'm assuming it's a code that only a blind woman with horns knows the meaning of." she shrugged, then handed the items to Cullen. "You should give it to her. She either trusts you, or despises you, and if it's the latter, I'd rather _you_ get attacked for the offense if she doesn't take the news well." she smirked. "I've seen her fight a Pride demon. I know what she can do." she chuckled.

     Cullen shot her a glare, which she ignored, and turned her attention to Josephine.

     "I'll keep an arrow knocked while you distract her." she winked at him. "Start writing to Val Royeux." she said to the diplomat. "I'll get to work on digging up leads on her father. From what she said, we might find information on any reports of Qunari Vashoth that died of unnatural causes, or criminals with a bounty on their head. If he was alone in the wilderness, he might've been on the run. I'll look for any suspects that had children with them."

     With that, she bowed politely and left. And Cullen stared at the items in his hand. Why did he have this sinking feeling that something bad was going to come of this? Wasn't it enough to just accept that the woman dubbed the Herald of Andraste wasn't trying to kill them, and let it go? Why did it feel less like helping a friend find her family, and more like desperately scrambling to uncover all of the woman's dirty secrets while she traveled out of earshot? None of this sat well with Cullen. Whatever she had buried, maybe it was best to keep it there. Of course, that was what he told himself of his own problems. 

     To bury them.

* * *

     "The Herald of Andraste." Lace Harding greeted, with surprise and awe in her voice when the Seeker and Dove met her at the outpost in Hinter, encamped above the Crossroads, where Dove could hear fighting, the clashing of swords, clear as day. She was tired already, the travel from the Frostbacks taking a lot out of both her and Cassandra, but she didn't want to waste any time with this. She knelt, staring off into the distance, most likely eyelevel with the dwarf the Inquisition sent to scout ahead.

     "I've heard the stories. Everyone has." the dwarf said. "We know what you did at the Breach. It's an honor to meet you." she straightened her stance. "Inquisition scout Harding, at your service, I...all of us here...will do whatever we can to help."

     "My thanks." Dove nodded. "What's the situation out here in the Hinterlands?" she asked calmly and gently, sensing Harding's unease.

     "We came to secure horses from Redcliffe's old Horsemaster. I...grew up here." she said nervously, with a hint of lament. Dove pitied her. "And people always said that Dennet's herds were the strongest, and the fastest, this side of the Frostbacks. But with the Mage-Templar fighting getting worse, we couldn't get to Dennet. Maker only knows if he's even still alive." she swallowed. "Mother Giselle's at the Crossroads, helping refugees and the wounded. But, our latest reports say the war's spread there too."

     That wasn't good news.

     "Corporal Vale and our men are doing what they can to help protect the people, but they won't be able to hold out very long." Harding added. 

     "We need to get down there, Cassandra. I can hear it." Dove warned with a solemn voice.

     Before anything more could be said, Dove stood up to leap onto a rock, jump down the other side, and make her way down the hill, with sure footing, knowing the Seeker was probably staring after her for a split second before realizing she should be following.

     "We should have brought Varric." she said as they slid down the bank. "With his stupidly large crossbow." she groaned.

     "I thought you didn't like him?" Dove asked her. 

     "He's...growing on me." she grumbled. Dove smirked.

     "Solas' magic would've been good too if talking the Apostates down fails." Dove admitted, as she sidestepped across a fallen log, padding lightly across it, before jumping down.

     "I thought _you_ didn't like _him_?" Cassandra remarked with a mock tone. Dove laughed.

     "He's...growing on me too."

     Up ahead both mages and Templars were battling the envoy of Inquisition soldiers that came to assist Giselle, Dove could hear it, and Cassandra could see it.

     "Hold Templars! We are not Apostates!" Cassandra called as they ran toward them. They attacked anyway.

     "We're not Templars either!" Dove called. "We're with the Inquisition!" she ducked as she heard the roll of fire coming toward her, as a mage attacked her stupidly. "Well a lot of good this is doing!" she snapped, as both she and the Seeker ended up outnumbered by a group of Templars, rather quickly, back to back. Apparently both sides saw the Inquisition as a threat, rather than relief. No surprise, really, as the Chantry's discord was spreading far and wide already.

     "I don't suppose you have any ideas, do you?" the Seeker asked her, adjusting her stance, rolling her shoulders and cracking her neck, bracing for a scuffle.

     "I wasn't expecting this. We need a faster way to report than birds, I might suggest." she flipped her staff in her hand. "Hold still, Seeker. An idea _just_ came to mind."

     She stamped her staff down and drew a wall of ice around her and the Seeker, that exploded outward, knocking the Templars back, smelling blood as one of the shards cut through armor, and one of the Templars didn't get up from his fall. Dead. Three more to go. The Seeker left her position and bashed with her shield, knocking one of them back, while Dove occupied herself with hitting one over the head with her staff, elbowing the third, then backslapping him to the ground, finishing them both with spikes of ice.

     "I find your ideas interesting, Herald." Cassandra said breathlessly. "It's over. There, I see the Mother." Dove turned to the sound of her voice. Across the village she could hear the soft Orlesian accent, drawing her closer, as she heard her reassure an injured soldier. 

     "There are mages here who can heal your wounds." she said softly. "Lie still."

     "Don't let them touch me, Mother!" said the frantic man, obvious that he had been a Templar, or was loyal to them, at that statement. "Their magic is-"

     "Turned to noble purpose." she assured him. "Their magic is surely no more evil than your blade."

     "But-" he argued quietly.

     "Hush, dear boy, allow them to ease your suffering." she patted him on the shoulder, as he gave in and lie down. Then she stood up, noticing Dove's approach. No wonder Leliana was inclined to think Mother Giselle would be of use, and no wonder the woman asked to meet with her. Soft-spoken, gentle hearted, sympathetic, and with a desire to see peace between the Mages and Templars. And she was right. Magic was no more evil than the person wielding it. Turned to better purpose, it could be needed. Just as the sword of a Templar.

     "Mother Giselle?" Dove said gently as she approached. The woman turned to her.

     "I am." she said. "And you must be the one they are calling the Herald of Andraste." she could feel the Mother looking her over.

     "Not through any choice of mine." she admitted. Giselle chuckled.

     "We seldom have much say in our fate, I'm sad to say." she remarked. Her voice was like the gentle flow of a river, with small splashes over rocks. It was soothing. Did she believe Dove really was a Herald?

     "So, you agree with those that believe I am?" Dove asked, genuinely curious.

     "I don't presume to know the Maker's intentions, for any of us." she stated. "But I did not ask for you to come simply to debate with me." the Mother's voice got quiet, a little more serious. 

     "I'm aware. So, why am I here?" Dove leaned her head in interest.

     "I know of the Chantry's denouncement, and I am familiar with those behind it." she started walking away from the others present, and Dove followed in step. "I won't lie to you. Some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine. Some are simply terrified. So many people, senselessly taken from us." she lamented with sadness. 

     "I want to fix it." Dove said to her. "But the Chantry's discord will not improve things, Mother. What can I do? What would you suggest?" 

     "With no Divine, we are each left to our own conscience." Giselle stated. "And mine tells me this. Go to them." she whispered. "Convince the remaining Clerics you are no demon to be feared. They've heard only frightful tales of you. Give them something else to believe." she encouraged.

     "Well, that certainly couldn't hurt, I suppose." Dove shrugged. "But they want to execute me. You really think there is a chance they could be bluffing? That they won't try to chain me the second I enter the city?"

     "You are no longer alone." Giselle assured. "They will not imprison, or attack you."

     "And instead make a show of me?" she let off a small disheartened chuckle at the thought of the Clerics using her to entertain their political campaign.

     "Hmm. Because you are Qunari?...Or because you are blind?" Giselle asked her. Dove could not find the woman's gaze so easily like she could Cullen's, but at that moment she wanted to glare right at her, and she would if she could. Instead she turned her head a little in Giselle's direction.

     "You know that I am blind?" she murmured her question, just as quietly as Giselle's words had been. She gave no answer, merely eyed her intrinsically, she guessed. Dove sighed. "I was born this way...it was not caused by the Breach."

     "No, I imagine not. You move with grace and ease, like a woman who has spent her entire life in the dark. But where you have no eyes, you do not judge others at face value. You let your heart guide you, do you not?" Dove could only nod silently at Giselle's terrific perception of her. "That is a tremendous gift, Herald. You can use it. You can...make them see."

     "How? How can I make them see?" Dove asked her.

     "Let me put it this way." Giselle said after a moment. "You need not convince them all. Just get some of them to doubt. Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them and you will receive the time you need." Dove accepted the gated advice from the Mother. She made a good point. Forward or backward, one pawn displaced on a board could change a game.

     "It was good of you to do this, Mother, to speak with me." Dove nodded.

     "I honestly don't know if you've been touched by fate, or sent to help us, but...I hope. Hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that would deliver us, or destroy us...I will go to Haven, and provide Sister Leliana with the names of those in the Chantry who will be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do whatever I can."

     Giselle made her move to depart, when Dove stopped her.

     "You really think I can change their minds, Mother?" she asked.

     "I do." she answered.  


	13. To Find the Softest Landing

     "I can't believe Giselle figured out that I'm blind." Dove said out loud, startling Cassandra half to death. Heart pounding in her chest suddenly, and she was surprised the Seeker didn't hit her with something. A laughable thought.

     The two had safely made their way to Redcliffe Farms, and made contact with Dennet. He was alive, thankfully, and he and his family were safe from the continuing fighting. But they couldn't safely get an envoy through the pass, and needed watchtowers in place, wolves and other stray beasts taken care of, and an outpost established. Though he was more than happy to help the Inquisition, and grant them some sturdy forders for use. So Dove and Cassandra scouted out possible locations for watchtowers to be placed and made camp near the village that night. Cassandra had just finished struggling over the report, handing it off to a lieutenant, who left with it, and moved to sit down next to the Herald by the campfire, when Dove spoke out of the blue. She didn't know how to respond at first.

     "I...uh..." she stumbled, clearing her throat. "You're, uh...you're blind? I never-"

     Dove burst out laughing. "Oh stop." she waved off the Seeker's words. "I already know you know, Seeker. Cullen and the others told you."

     "So that is why you asked me to accompany you, then?" Cassandra asked. Dove nodded. "I apologize for not being forthright. I did not think you wanted anyone to know."

     "It's alright. There's no need. Had to come out some time if I'm to be any help. I can't see to read a map." she rubbed her chin. "I'm just...trying to figure out how the Mother knows. Unless someone told her. You think...maybe the Sister sent a message ahead, telling her of my 'handicap'?" she tossed a twig into the fire, listening to the way it crackled as it burst into flame, making it warmer for just a moment, the heat spreading across her face.

     "Leliana would not do such a thing." Cassandra assured. "Regardless, Mother Giselle seems to see it as a gift, Herald, not a handicap. But you see it as a crutch, don't you? You don't want people to know because you don't want their pity then?" Cassandra stretched out, propping herself against the bench behind her, folding one leg over the other, her boots making a small tap as they touched.

     "I suppose." Dove sighed. "I just...don't want to be treated differently. But I suppose I have no choice in that matter. People will treat me that way regardless. The Herald of Andraste? A Qunari mage who believes in the Maker? Blind or not, I'm drawing attention because of this mark." she raised her hand a little, showing it, before letting it flop back down to her lap. "In some ways it's a good thing. We need attention, though the positive kind, and we need numbers, and we need more power to close the Breach..."

     "We do, that is true." Cassandra mused.

     "But in others..." she shrugged. "I don't want my defects or abilities, or this mark...or the Inquisition, for that matter...to be misinterpreted by the Chantry...or anyone." she confessed. "And no, I don't want anyone's pity. I never did. I may not be able to see the world as others do, and I may not have any idea what 'white' is, but I can feel things others cannot. As different as your sight is to my blindness, Seeker, my hearing is to yours, and all my other senses." she sighed. "It makes me stronger, but...I don't know...maybe I just don't want people making stupid faces at me all the time, just to check if I can't really see them. You know, waving their hand in front of my face, things like that. The children I met back in Ostwick used to do that. The 'echo' sends me off balance. I told them if they didn't stop, they'd be chased by demons." she smirked. Cassandra hummed in amusement.

     "No one in Haven, and I mean _no one_...would do that to the Herald of Andraste, Dove." she leaned her head and folded her arms. "If anything they'd speak a lot quieter, or perhaps _stop_ gossiping so much altogether." she said with disgust. Dove chuckled.

     "Silence is the best kept secret." she grinned.

     "And if you wish for it remain a secret, Herald, I will not speak of it." Cassandra stated.

     "You know, Cullen said he thought I was just so attuned to the Fade I didn't need to see to fight when he saw me close my eyes at the Temple. Maybe people will believe that." Dove said, rather casually, just throwing out her thoughts. "There is some truth to it."

     "Maybe so. _Or_ maybe they will believe that the Maker chose a blind woman as his prophet to show the world you don't need to see to believe." she shifted a little. "You said you struggle to believe what you cannot see with your own eyes."

     "And you told me that everyone struggles with that." Dove interjected evenly.

     "Yes, I did. And you said you _saw_ a woman in the Fade, Herald. In the dungeon, I _believed_ you." she sighed. "They do say a woman was in the rift behind you, though no one knows who she was. Which meant you saw...something."

     "It could have been her. Could've been just another spirit wandering in the dream. Could've been Justinia's spirit, if she's...if she's truly dead." Dove sighed. "But whatever it was, I did see it, and it was nothing like I've ever felt before."

     "Hold onto that, Herald." Cassandra said quietly. "Have faith. These people will need a guide, and it must be you." she said solemnly.

     "Ha. The blind leading the deaf." she murmured, but Cassandra heard her.

     "That's exactly what it means to have faith." she said, making Dove crack a rueful smile.

     The fire continued to crackle, as night drew upon them, sending a cold front across their faces. Wolves howled off to their right. Their den, that they had searched for, wolves that were set upon by a demon, possessed by it, and the demon had been dispelled, the wolves freed, a problem no more. The demon itself and interesting encounter, though much more of one for Dove than Cassandra, she imagined, as she could not hear the demon quite like Dove could. There was a stream that trickled, little pops and hisses were the sounds it made as drops landed in the shallow body of water, slowly making their way down, through the current. The wind whistled through the trees, and there sat a Seeker of Truth, and the Herald of Andraste, who both enjoyed the silence between.

* * *

     "I really _must_ speak with Cassandra about her penmanship." Leliana said with a cool smile as she entered Cullen's tent. "While her reports are accurate, concise, and rather formal, her handwriting is..." she shook her head. Cullen looked up from his own reports on his desk, inventory mostly. Cracking his neck to relieve stiffness, then rubbing his eyes.

     He hadn't slept the night before. Though they heard nothing but good news for the last week from Cassandra of the Hinterlands, it didn't ease his mind. Dove was making a lot of strides, just with closing rifts alone, let alone everything else. Giselle had arrived, and provided a list of Clerics that might agree to a meet in Val Royeux, and Leliana and Josephine made the necessary arrangements for when the Herald returned. Some new recruits came in, some better than others with a sword, and in light of recent events, a few more mages and Templars left their battle in the Hinterlands to take up arms to the Breach. But they were not satisfied with each other's company, not in the slightest. It was a battle of its own to negotiate living quarters, and to secure unchecked magic, as some of the mages were rather a little reluctant to relinquish their staves as a show of good faith. And Leliana had something to show him, handing him the letter in her hand.

     "A death record?" he asked, stupidly of course, as obviously she already knew the content of the opened letter.

     "My agent procured it this morning." Leliana commented, as Cullen poured over it.

     "Are you absolutely sure it's him?" he asked aloud, still a little unsure of the words he was reading.

     _'9:21 Dragon, a saarebas calling himself Aban Adaar, Tal-Vashoth, hunted and killed by Ben-Hassrath agents between the Free Marches and Tevinter Imperium border, for violation of the Qun. Rumored to have consorted with a female Tevinter native. Living relatives unknown. One child, believed to be imesaar-bas, escaped, presumed dead.'_

     "What does...imesaar-bas mean?" he asked then.

     "I honestly have no idea. The agent that got this information doesn't speak Qunlat. But whatever it means, they assume Dove is dead, if Adaar is her father. It's the closest match I have. And expensive information, I'll have you know. Had to have Josephine pull in some favors." Leliana turned to leave. "Perhaps Dove will know. You should be the one to tell her."

     "Offering me up for slaughter with the Valo-kas message wasn't enough?" Cullen smirked a little. "Think she'll react badly?"

     "What do _you_ think, Commander?" she eyed him for a moment. "She trusts you. It'll be easier to hear it from you that she has no family. At least not among Qunari."

     The way she said that...sounded odd. But she left before Cullen could ask what she meant by that, and he was left with the note in his hand. If this was her father, killed twenty years ago, that meant she was barely thirty, then? That was interesting. If she knew how old she was when he was killed, this might very well answer everything. Only thirty? Rather young, for someone who showed such wisdom. Hard to believe that someone like her could even exist. Funny, though, that this giant, Aban Adaar, consorted with a human woman? Surely that was not the reason he was hunted. They didn't... _kill_ people for that, did they? Cullen sighed and set the letter down in front of him, rubbing his eyes. He started to feel like he would fall asleep when a scout approached his tent, calling for him.

     "There's trouble, sir." said the woman, and Cullen grumbled.

     "What is it now?" he barked.

     Minutes later he discovered exactly what it was. Up by the Chantry, a group of Apostates argued with some men that had been under Cullen's command, this time, with a new argument. And he was most certain he knew why when he saw Chancellor Rodric in the crowd, no doubt he had something to do with it. The man seemed to feed off of the unrest that was stirring while the Breach was still in the sky. A devout, faithful man? Blinded. Dove physically could not see, and yet she had more conviction, a clearer vision of the real threat, than the Chancellor that questioned her existence. Maybe that was why she was chosen. If they could believe she was.

     "Your kind killed the Most Holy!" scathed a Templar, directing his blame at a mage.

     "Lies!" barked the mage. "Your kind let her die!" he pointed his finger for emphasis.

     "Shut your mouth, mage!" shouted the Templar, moving to draw his blade.

     "Enough!" raged Cullen, moving to push both men apart.

     "Knight-Captain-" started the mage, but Cullen stopped his words.

     "That is _not_ my title!" he spat, then he turned to the Templar. "We are _not_ Templars any longer." he glanced back and forth between them. "We are _all_ part of the Inquisition!" he said to them.

     "And what does that mean, exactly?" asked Rodric as he approached, his expression sort of smug.

     "Back already Chancellor?" Cullen remarked with a scour. "Haven't you done enough?"

     "I'm curious, Commander, as to how your Inquisition and its 'Herald' will restore order, as you promised!" Oh the Chancellor made sure everyone gathered could hear his words, and Cullen was already tired. This was going to be a long day, wasn't it? It was beginning to be the norm.

     "Of course you are." Cullen muttered, unable to hide his distain. "Back to your duties, all of you!" he said to the crowd.

     Slowly they began to disperse, and even Rodric melded back into the background, the crowd parting to reveal a set of horns, and a mane of long white hair. Dove had returned to Haven, and had been nearby, listening to the argument. She looked tired, much more than he, and he suddenly wondered what exactly that mark did to her when she used it. She looked a little bedraggled, there was a tear in her leather coat at the corner on the left side, and mud ran up her boots to her legs. But she had the slightest smile on her face, one that quickly disappeared, as she was straightening her stance at his approach.

     "One day at a time." she said quietly. He leaned his head.

     "Pardon?" he asked, with a bit of a smile, confused and curious.

     "He asked how we'll restore order. One day at a time, Commander." she said with a nod. He sighed.

     "You know, I think I needed to hear that, at the moment." he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. It was the middle of winter, dammit. Why did the sun have to feel so hot on him? Dove nodded for the both of them to enter the Chantry behind them, and of course he followed.

     "How was the Hinterlands?" he asked, hoping she could discern his sarcasm, as he had already read all of Cassandra's...colorful reports. Perhaps she did, because she laughed.

     "Warmer? Yes, warmer. We'll go with that." she grinned. Maker's breath. This woman had a way with making him forget what he was just worrying about. He sighed. He couldn't forget. Pieces of paper crinkled in his pocket to remind him.

     "May I...er...speak with you privately, for a moment?" he asked, glancing ahead to see that the Mother was standing near Josephine's office, talking to someone, and a scout was coming in through the door behind them. She nodded, suddenly turning a little serious, curious as to the reason he wanted to speak with her. He started walking and she started following, letting him lead her to the counseling chamber. Once inside, and the door was closed shut nice and tight, he let out a sigh.

     "Something on your mind, Commander?" she asked, moving to stand next to the table, running a hand over the map, absentmindedly, probably sensing that he was about to deliver some possibly bad news. Evident by her expression. "What's wrong, Cullen?" she asked with concern. He sighed again.

     "I'm not really sure, actually." he admitted, pulling folds of paper out of his pocket, from within his overcoat. "These arrived after you departed. The first, a letter from the Valo-kas company, blank-"

     "Of course." she affirmed.

     "And inside a...feather and a tree branch." he finished, and she stood up straight then, quickly walking over to him, holding out her hand.

     "What kind of feather, and what kind of branch?" she asked, with a bit of alarm.

     "A...dove's feather." he answered. "And an...olive branch? I've no doubt they mean something to you?"

     She let out a breath of relief when he named the items. "They do." she said, as he placed the items in her hand, and she felt them with her fingers, gently running one along the edge of the feather, a small swiping sound to follow. She smiled just a little.

     "And this." he held up the report that arrived that morning. "One of Leliana's agents acquired this from a contact up north. Shall I read it to you, Herald?" he asked. She nodded. "You...may want to sit down."

     "It's about my family, isn't it?" she asked. He gaped. "I'll take that as a 'yes'." She moved to sit on a chair nearby. He took a breath and read the report about Aban Adaar. Her face turned whiter than usual upon hearing it. He wasn't sure what that meant, but she looked like she was going to be sick. She slowly breathed in through her nose, trying to steady herself, then let it out nervously, gripping her leather coat very tightly.

     "Thank you." she murmured quietly.

     "You didn't know any of that, did you?" he asked. She shook her head, confirming that she didn't. "I'm...not entirely sure he's your father. We could be wrong. Did he die that same year?"

     "He...could have." she said slowly. "To be honest, I have no idea how old I am, or what year it was. I lost track of the days...then the years. I know only that I was ten when he was..." she wrinkled her brow. "It's him. I'm sure of it."

     "Are you?" Cullen questioned her. "You said they left you for dead, those that killed your father. This report says the child escaped. Is presumed dead. Is it you? Did they lie in the report?"

     She slumped her shoulders. "I don't know. But they called me imesaar-bas." She hugged herself then, as if there was a chill in the air. But there wasn't. It was a memory no doubt. He quickly walked over to her.

     "I'm sorry. I...don't know what to say." he lamented. "What...what does that word mean?"

     "Demon child." she chuckled coldly. "More or less. A child that's been corrupted or possessed by a demon. Well, I'm not. I'm not possessed, I'm no demon, I'm..." her words slowly turned to anger, obvious that there was some rage within her over what happened when she was a child, but so little left now. It had been so long. Twenty years. She stood up then. "I...I have to go. I need some armor repairs, and later we need to discuss the situation in the Hinterlands. Dennet needs sentries in Redcliffe, and I need to prepare for Val Royaux. Much as I think it useless of a thing to do, I will try to reason with the Chantry. If I can."

     So...that was it? No anger, no rage, no lashing out, or...explanation or anything. If there wasn't so much to do, he'd try to weasel one out of her, but...alas, there was no time. No doubt they would be busy making arrangements for Dennet, among other things. And did he not say it would be a long day?

     "What does it mean?" he asked her, before thinking. "The feather and the branch?"

     "You don't know?" she smiled a little then. And sighed. "A dove holding an olive branch is a symbol of peace, Commander. The Valo-kas have found theirs, and wish for me to do the same."

     "Have you? Found peace, I mean." His words stopped her from grasping the handle of the door, causing her to slowly turn around.

     "I will when the Breach is closed." she said with an incredulous expression and a shrug. Cullen shook his head.

     "Closure, then? About your family? As you said before...on several occasions...it wouldn't change anything, but...you know who you really are." his voice trailed off to a quiet murmur as he spoke, suddenly wishing he hadn't asked, as her expression became quite grim, much like the look of complacency he saw in her before she confessed she was blind. She scoffed.

     "Yes, Basalit Adaar, the defective offspring of a traitor." Her words rang hallow in her throat, it seemed, and she slumped back against the door. "He never told me she was Tevinter." she stated, void of emotion. "But suddenly everything he ever said makes sense, where it didn't before, I suppose."

     "You think your father's a traitor for consorting with a human?" Cullen asked, more or less just curious of her opinion. She shook her head.

     "No, not for that." she mumbled. "I don't think he's one at all. But to the Qunari, a traitor for breaking the Qun. Makes sense that their agents hunted him." She took a breath, not wanting to continue, but forcing herself to. "Most Tal-Vashoth are not hunted unless their crime was repetitive, or volatile in nature. Which means he was bad...even for a Qunari's standards." she raised a brow. "I...thank you, Cullen." she stepped toward him, leaning her head. "In Qunlat, I believe you would be called 'basalit-an'. Worthy of respect. In elven, I would call you 'falon'. In ancient dwarven I would say 'salroka'." she smiled. "But as you prefer the common tongue and so do I, Commander, might I just call you 'friend', and...you can call me Dove."

     With those words, she gently patted his arm, before disappearing out the door, leaving Cullen smiling, and he wasn't quite sure he understood why. But...yes. Yes, he supposed he was beginning to see he could truly be her friend. And she was his. He chuckled to himself. He could get used to it. Wasn't it the 'best of friends', as she put it? He shook his head and smiled in thought of the confounding woman that left the room, before tarrying after.


	14. Bottomless Descent

     Like thunder, pounding down from the heavens, roaring, a magnificent cannon, surging eastward and over the mountains, following the lightening after its strike, the quick thwack it makes, the pause, the conductor to usher in the natural orchestra bringing rain to quench the thirsty fields...The song of the rain itself, pelting down like liquid fire, spitting and popping, hissing like an animal in fear, but yet a sweet song of release...The end of a drought...So was the feeling in Dove's heart. 

     She missed the rain. Missed the cold sting as it hit her face, the only thing that ever surprised her in the wild. She could smell the storm coming, feel the wind whipping her hair about, the sudden drop of temperature as clouds formed, the thickness in the air, but...for all the magic she possessed she could never guess the precise moment the rain would fall like she could predict the sunshine. Rain was different, its song of sorrow, released after a slow build that packed itself into thick, heavy condensation that seemed to explode from the sky when it spilled over. Like building up so much anger, hate, sorrow, loss, forcing it to the back of her mind, before it finally broke, and tears fell from her cheeks like the rain. 

     But she didn't cry. Only let out a sigh as she followed the snow ridden path to Herrit's station, ignoring the bitter cold, drawn to the thunderous sound of a hammer, smacking against onyx, collected from Hinter to strengthen blades, and improve pauldrons. She found a blacksmith's work quite amusing, really. That such loud, angry, and brute force could create such delicate, intricate art, a forged blade, sharpened with immeasurable precision, with which one could rule over nations, or tear them apart, depending on the nature of a person. Giselle said the Inquisition could either deliver them, or destroy them, and it would all rest upon her. She found herself caught in that metaphor now, letting the only thing that connected her to Qunari take over for a few moments, the call of a hammer and forge. The call of war.

     She wanted to line up her emotions like pieces on a board, everyone in place, exactly where they needed to be, but she couldn't. She was no strategist, philosophical or otherwise. Giselle was right to say her heart guided her, but Dove's heart was very blind right then. More than her. 

     The information Cullen gave her of her father only strengthened the melancholy she already felt her whole life, but...She could sense his remorse. Odd, that she could sense it now that she knew the reason why she struggled over connecting with his emotions. When she drew close enough to him, to call him friend, to touch his shoulder, she could sense it. The thin, sensitive trail of Lyrium in his veins, the diaphanous web of which only weakening further than the week before, the trace of it almost nonexistent. And that explained it all. The fiery skin, the rage of his heart, the sweat on his brow, the drinking to ease the pain, the discomfort, the dreams...He was withdrawing from Lyrium. He stopped taking it.

     And now that she could feel it, his words reverberated with a different sort of tremor altogether. The unease, the discomfort, it was not caused by her. It was caused by physical pain. Therefore, everything he said to her sung a different tune to her ears. But also brought more questions. Namely... _why_ he stopped taking Lyrium. Surely he knew that such a thing was dangerous to do, if left unchecked. This overwhelmed her sense, beyond her own worries. Her worry was now for him, and she wasn't sure how to react to it. If she should tell him of her assessment of him. If he even wanted anyone to know.

     If she should hunt and slay the metaphorical demons twisting the dagger in his spirit.

     She pushed that thought aside momentarily when her armor was repaired, and instead concentrated on collecting elfroot in the grove outside Haven. Elfroot was an interesting plant. It could weather the storm, grow almost anywhere, so strong, so vibrant the aura that clouded it. And it made for useful things, like restorative elixirs, balms and salves to cure trivial ailments. She made herself further useful by searching the old workhouse for some misplaced papers for the resident alchemist, Adan, who believed that research from the previous potions master that lived there in Haven could prove an advantage for them, even if a small one at best. She could only hope to be a help to anyone, particularly with the effervescent stir of the Chantry Clerics in Val Royeux standing between her and the power to restore order.

     But the night descended upon Haven all too quickly, the day drawing to a close, away went the sun. One could hear birds calling in the distance, roosting in the trees that dotted the otherwise barren landscape. And one could see the swirling void that was the Breach, stable, for now, but Dove could feel it, and yet still the feeling that cascaded down from the heavens to the Herald's heart. That it 'wasn't meant to be this way'. 'It shouldn't have been like this', the whispers told her. That the spirits of the dead should linger, trapped between life and death, trapped in the emptiness that no being, living or otherwise, would ever wish to enter. Their pain. Their confusion. Their anger, raging in the in-between, just out of reach. The ugly knife that marred the beauty of the Fade.

     There was another whisper of pain. One that Dove heard yet again, from somewhere in the distance, somewhere outside the main gate. A human who whimpered in his sleep, in pain, restlessness, brought by confusion. The nightmare that broke his spirit.

     Dove sucked in a breath, laying down on the bed in her cabin. Closing her eyes when they started to sting, the ache of sleeplessness. Her heart throbbing in her chest, eventually slowing down to a steady thrum, as the feeling washed over her. It was like falling through a canyon in slow motion, or slipping into a pool of water, gradually sinking further down, until one reached the bottom and floated aimlessly. Then, silence. Nothing but. No roosting birds, no blacksmith's hammer, no clashing of swords, or the gossiping of soldiers, just...silence. Silence as her body stilled in sleep, and her mind slipped past the Veil. Only one's spirit could get through. Only the dream could focus to a point small enough to evade the barrier, to sink into the Fade.

     She would _not_ interfere. She promised herself this. She would only listen, and feel, to understand. To comprehend the danger that lurked somewhere in the dream. So that she could understand his pain and maybe find the right 'words of wisdom' to offer in waking hours. Standing on cold stone, feeling the jagged material under her bare feet. Invisible, a shadow, a spirit of a form that none could see. How easy it was to mask herself to demons, and so easy it became to mask herself from the imagined ones that hid in the recesses of Cullen's mind. She could hear a woman humming a tune, but it sounded so far away, the long drawn out echo of which just barely reached Dove's ears. His memory of this. She was already starting to feel it, as if her own.

     It was different, feeling a person's pain. People were so confused by the pain they felt at times, unable to discern between real and imagined pain, physical and emotional, especially in a dream where they didn't know it wasn't real. Unlike spirits, that usually understood their pain, as it was the very essence of themselves, their purpose, like a spirit of wisdom understood it was meant to be wise, and would do so without the physical boundaries to hinder...a person could only cry in anguish at it, fight it, war with it...instead of embracing it. And so Cullen did now, with this physical, yet imagined, pain... _torture_. People were torturing him, and he couldn't stop them. He could not stop these demons from breaking him. His mind...his heart...his _spirit_.

     Dove felt tears on her face. They smelled like blood. It greatly concerned her. Tears she understood, but...blood? What demonic thing called for Cullen's blood? Things scraping her skin, pricking her like needles, stinging and biting the skin, feelings of anger and hate...

     "Dove?" cried out a questioning voice. It was Cullen. He could _see her_. She was losing concentration trying to assess the meaning of his pain. She was slipping. She'd never entered a dream like this one, or felt such feelings like she did now. Cullen's emotions. Calling for help, calling for release... _Longing for death_. He preferred death over this, and yet its sweet song would not play for him.

     "Please... _help me_." he whimpered. She had to do something. Now. Before the dream sucked her in and she'd never wake up. Or worse, succumb to the evil within it.

     She slowly walked toward his voice, holding out her hand.

     "It's alright, Cullen, I'm here." she called softly to him. "You're not alone."

     "Please... _kill me_." he pleaded, his voice straining, his spirit breaking. She couldn't let it break.

     "Cullen...it's only a dream. It isn't real." she said to him.

     Silence. Silence that meant he was waking up. She could then hear the delicate glass break, shards of it forcing themselves outward and away, cutting across her, pulling her backward, pushing her out of his mind. She didn't fight it, she let it take her, moving her slowly through the tangles of the Fade until she herself woke, sucking in a breath, rising from her bed, feeling like a drowned individual finally emerging from murky waters. The connection severed. The physical world flooding her with warmth, though her skin still tingled in remembrance. She flopped back down on the bed, feeling the residual vibrations of her own body sinking into it.

     How could she calm the spirits of this world and the next, if she couldn't comprehend the spirit of one man, the Commander? Was she _really_ called by a higher power to help save this world? Or was she simply a blind woman caught in a 'darkness' she couldn't comprehend?...She understood one thing from the dream, however. Something she and the Commander both shared. Something that now bound them. Torture.

     Maker's breath.  
 


	15. Flying Blind into the Storm

     _It's just a dream...It isn't real..._

     He had been there, at that spot, that same moment in time, almost every night. Caught in the ebb and flow of it all, looping over and over again like a bard playing the same tiring song. The notes played on the lute in the same order so many times the song didn't even make sense anymore. That it just strung together, endlessly, sounds that melted into nothingness. Reliving the same memory, in much the same fashion.

     He could block it from his mind while he was awake, concentrate on other things, relieved by the fact that it was in the past. That it wasn't the reality anymore, that things were different. Though reality was just as frightening, at times, especially when Cullen left his tent every morning, and stared up at the sky to see the Breach, and it's ugly green head glaring right back at him. A reminder that they were all doomed if they did not put an end to it. But he could feel a slight tingle in his spine at the fact that there was a woman at Haven who _could_ do it, provided they put a stop to the Chantry's political reams that were keeping both mages and Templars a safe distance away from the Inquisition's influence. But for two years now he'd fall asleep, and in the nightmare of the dream, he did not know there was an end to it, he didn't feel any hope, that there was a light at the end of the tunnel, that there was release from the agony that waited for him. He didn't know it wasn't real. And neglecting to take Lyrium only made it worse. There was nothing to stop the song from playing, and the dreams became more vivid, every little detail, every slight sound, smell, taste...every bit of his experience so evocative it was as if it was happening all over again.

     But that night had been different. For there, in front of him, appeared a mage out of the darkness, out of the shadows, standing in a pool of light, reflecting of her skin, her hair, and her eyes seemed to glow. Watching him being tortured, tears streaming down her face. In his dream she could see it, in his dream she wasn't blind. But she could see his pain laid bare, and he called out to her. Begging her to free him. It was then that she smiled a little, she reached out to him and said, with a gentle voice as smooth as silk, "It's only a dream...it isn't real."

     And at those words he woke, sweat dampening his forehead, struggling to breathe, fiery hot inside his tent. He wore no overcoat, but still wore his armor, always did, with his blade and shield nearby, always at the ready. His armor felt so heavy then, pulling him back to the cot, and he went with it, lying back on the wool blanket he rolled up into a ball for a pillow. He rubbed his eyes, but it did nothing to stop the pounding in his skull. It would be so easy to slip his arm underneath the cot and pull out the box underneath of it, but...No, it wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't change the past. It wouldn't reverse the damage already done. He was not that man anymore.

     Dove understood such things, he imagined. That knowing the truth didn't change what had been done. She said so, numerous times, and he agreed. Knowing her father was Aban Adaar didn't change who she was, anymore than sharing her real name changed his perception of her. They were still there, at Haven, and things were still the same. Regardless of the nightmare that plagued him, he still came back to the same reality. And so did she, in a manner of speaking. Was that why she asked him to kill her? Because she feared that even if she could remember the explosion, it wouldn't change anything, and therefore didn't matter? Was that why he latched onto her so? Why she appeared in his dream? Because he saw similarity between the two of them, that had nothing to do with race, or background, but instead had everything to do with both of them being part of something new? Did he not say the day before to a mage and a Templar that they were _all_ part of the Inquisition? Dove knew that as well. They were all pawns on a board of a much larger game. Two sovereigns in the same coinpurse, she said.

     _One day at a time, Commander_...

     It was still dark out, much too early to rise, but Cullen couldn't sleep. He knew he'd regret it in the morning, but the way he felt just then was as if the world was caving, and he needed to grab something, anything, to pull himself up, before he was crushed by the weight. So he sat at his desk after lighting a candle, grabbed a quill, holding it in his shaking hand, holding his head in the other, breathing in and out, trying to ignore the way his skin crawled, as he penned a letter. He knew Mia heard what happened. Josephine gave him a letter from his family, only just the day before, leaving it unopened. She didn't pry, much as she probably wanted to learn of the letter's contents, so nosey sometimes, she couldn't really help it. But he debated upon an answer, if he should really write back or not. What would he say? 'Dear Mia, the world has gone to complete shit, and we may all die, but I wanted you to know first that I'm alive, though I have nightmares, developed a drinking problem, and I am now friends with a Qunari mage that could possibly be the harbinger of the destruction of Thedas. She's blind, and I'm an idiot.'

     Before he realized what he was doing, he looked down at the paper to see that was what he'd _actually_ started writing. He rolled his eyes and rubbed his neck, working out the kinks. Staring at the words written. Sighing, picking up the fragile piece of paper and holding it to the candle, watching the slow burn until the words disappeared, the ink sizzling, white paper turned black, and he tossed the remaining bits of it to the frozen ground beside him, stomping out the flame with his boot. This was going to be a very long night, he imagined.

     And a very long day the next day as well.

     He woke his lieutenant first, the man snorting in surprise upon waking, the bit of drool that dribbled down the side of his cheek had dried, and his shaggy brown hair was in shambles, but he shot up quickly, as if a bell rung in his ear, ready to start the day. There was much to be done. And the villagers that showed up on a daily basis were in no shape to fight, much less fight demons, mages or Templars, or whatever the Maker threw at them. He stood watching them in the yard, sparring with one another, trying so hard to resist the urge to cuff their ears like the initiate he had been at thirteen, aspiring to be a Templar.

     "There's a shield in your hand! Block with it!" he barked at a recruit. "If this man were your enemy, you'd be dead!" he turned to the soldier beside him. "Lieutenant, don't hold back. The recruits must prepare for a real fight! Not a practice one!" he said to him.

     "Yes, Commander." he replied, saluting him with a fist over his heart. Cullen folded his arms and continued to observe when he heard light footsteps walking up beside him. He glanced over to see the 'oracle' of his dream, Dove, looking much better than the day before, her scout coat repaired, cleaned up of mud and other muck, not a hair out of place. Slender arms behind her back, much the usual for her, listening to the soldiers train.

     "We received a number of recruits, locals from Haven, and some pilgrims." he commented. "None made _quite_ the entrance you did." he smirked, also producing a smile on her features, calm and steady 'gaze' turning to his voice for a brief moment.

     "Yes, it seems I got everyone's attention." she cooed softly, standing close enough for him to hear her. Why was that suddenly...bothersome? He huffed a little at her joke though.

     "That you did." he agreed. "I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall myself." he relented as he started walking, Dove following his step, to the other end of the yard where it was just slightly quieter. "I was there during the mage uprising. I saw first hand the devastation it caused." A scout was walking over.

     "Sir." he said, holding out a report.

     "Cassandra sought a solution." Cullen said as he took the report in his hand, looking over it. "When she offered me a position I left the Templars to join her cause. Now it seems we face something far worse."

     "Well for better or worse, Commander, I must have this mark for a reason." Dove said to him. "And I know it will work." she nodded to the Breach in the distance.

     "Provided we can secure aid." he mused. "But I'm confident we can." he assured. Then he handed the report back to the scout waiting for it. "The Chantry _lost_ control over both mages and Templars, and now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. But the Inquisition _could_ act when the Chantry cannot." he confided. "Our followers could be apart of that. There's so much we can..." he stopped himself. He was only trying to relent how much he agreed with her, but it sounded more like he was trying to school her. He sighed. "Forgive me." he said. "I doubt you came here for a lecture."

     She smiled a little, shrugging. "No, but if you have one prepared, I'd love to hear it." she said, producing a chuckle from Cullen.

     "Are you serious?" he asked. "I...honestly can't tell if that was a joke or not."

     Her smile widened. "What if I was being serious, Cullen? You're very passionate. I admire that. You could lecture me all you want, and I honestly wouldn't mind." she beamed. Spoken in earnest. Ironic how she could seem to warm up the cold air around them with her words, despite the coolness of her appearance, with hair that matched the snow. He didn't know how to react to it.

     "Hmph. Another time perhaps." he said. There was a moment of silence as he studied her, and it was sure to be awkward for her, judging by the way she raised a brow just then. "I..uh." he stumbled, clearing his throat. "There's a lot of work ahead..."

     Another soldier approached.

     "Commander, Sir Rylen has a report on our supply lines." said the man.

     "As I was saying." Cullen raised a brow. Dove chuckled a little, shaking her head and walking away. He assumed that later, at some point, she'd drag him to the tavern again for a 'lecture', but he hoped...he honestly did...that it would not be a conversation about the Inquisition, and maybe instead it could be about the warmth of glass, or a feather and an olive branch. It would be about her. She was...well, a very nice distraction, he thought to himself, watching her walk away, out of the corner of his eye.

     _It's just a dream...It isn't real..._


	16. Ruffling Orlesian Feathers

     It was so strange to talk to Cullen, and hear his commanding tone, brought by years of military condition. Strange to hear the conviction in his words as he relented his passion for the Inquisition's end goal. Strange to feel him stand so confidently, hear the warm laughter brought by her sarcastic comment about 'lecturing' her. Feel his body heat, hear his pounding heart, his breath catch, just before recovering with sarcasm and wit, imagine his smile, contemplate what his eyes could look like, and feel the pride within this man. Strange, considering how she heard and _felt_ him prostrate and beg for mercy in his nightmares. Strange that a man who was at war with himself on the inside, could be so forthright, motivated, and determined during waking hours. Dove couldn't help but get caught up for a moment in it, wondering if she should even say anything to him about it, or relay any sort of wisdom. As it seemed clear he intended to fight the battle within his heart _alone_. Like a lion, refusing to back down. She wondered if the Seeker even knew.

     To an ordinary person a Chantry could be very quiet. A tranquil place to find solitude, to pray, to seek guidance from superiors within the temple's walls. A place to contemplate the meaning of it all, to close one's eyes and listen to their hearts, to hear the voice of the Maker within them. To find stillness between activity, and silence between words.

     But to the Herald of Andraste, there was no silence within Haven's Chantry, never at any point. Her footsteps echoed off the stone passageways, doors opened and closed with a heavy groan, and whispers became shouts, the low rumble of aching stone that resisted the mountain it was built under. The carpet scraped against boots as people entered the hall, the wind making the window shudders tap incessantly, and the hearts that beat. A loud storm in her ears, as Dove made her way through the hall, nodding to the Mother that stood nearby in vigil, walking up to the door on the left, that had an Antivan within it. She could already hear the diplomatic debate with an Orlesian visitor that arrived that afternoon.

     Dove wanted to say that it was because she shared Qunari blood, or say that the idea of taking Lyrium frightened her, or that she could not believe what she could not see, but absentmindedly she formulated the thought that she never converted to the Chantry because she just could not find tranquility within one. Not like she could in the wild. A part of her heart could never let go of the person she was before Valo-kas, and that part of her became agitated within those walls. 

     Dove collected herself as she slowly pushed the door open.

     "The Inquisition cannot remain, Ambassador." pleaded the individual. "If you can't prove it was founded on Justinia's orders."

     "This is an inopportune time, Marquis." replied Josephine. "More of the faithful flock here each day." she turned a little, noticing Dove's presence in the room. "But allow me to introduce you to the _brave_ soul that _risked her life_ to slow the magic of the Breach." she said most gracefully, like the flowery, yet sharp noble she was. "Mistress Adaar."

     Oh no. No, there had better be a _damned good_ reason Josephine used her supposedly real name to introduce the 'Herald of Andraste' to the Marquis. But of course, Dove made a bow, directing her gaze to Josephine, rather than the man that no doubt itched behind an uncomfortable mask that smelled of sweat and citrus wine.

     "Mistress, may I present the Marquis Durellion, one of Divine Justinia's greatest supporters." Josephine said evenly, though her heart raced in her chest at this encounter. So did Durellion's.

     "And the rightful owner of Haven." he finished. "How-"

     "Bonjour, Monsuer Durellion." Dove closed her eyes and made a slight bow. "Comment vas-tu, cet après-midi?"

     Durellion's breath hitched, just a little. "Bonjour." he strained to say. Thrown off by Dove's use of his native tongue. He righted himself quick enough though. "House Durellion lent Justinia these lands for pilgrimage. This Inquisition is not a beneficiary of this arrangement."

     "This is the first I've heard of Haven having an owner outside the Chantry." Dove commented collectively.

     "My wife, Lady Machen of Denerim, has claim to Haven by ancient treaty with the Monarchs of Ferelden." he said, but his heart gave him away. Beating so fast, hoping this information would seem passable to both of them. But Dove wasn't buying it. Things changed too quickly, and treaties did eventually lose value, easily swept aside. "We were honored to lend it's use to Divine Justinia. She is...she _was_ a woman of supreme merit." That part she believed, his lament at the fate of the Divine. It seemed he was twisting honesty to suit his purpose. Most likely had something to gain by appealing to those loyal to the Chantry that denounced them, or the Chantry itself. "I will not let an upstart order remain on her holy grounds."

     "Interesting." she remarked with a smooth tone. "Considering the Inquisition was founded by the right and left hand of the Divine." she reminded.

     "I see no written records from Sister Leliana or Seeker Pentaghast that Justinia approved the Inquisition." he stated. Well, she didn't see them either, but she didn't let his words deter her.

     Josephine kindly intervened. "If he wont take her at her word, I'm afraid Seeker Pentaghast _must_ challenge him to a duel." she said smartly, and Dove wanted to laugh, as Durellion's heart fluttered, but refrained. The argument was won.

     "What?" he said aloud.

     "It is a matter of honor among the Nevarrans." she explained. "Shall I arrange the bout for tonight?" she asked, pen poised in her hand.

     "No. No." he hastily relented. "Perhaps my reaction to the Inquisition's presence was a bit...hasty." he said calmly, though his heart still thumped wildly. Bluffing indeed. He sighed.

     "We face a dark time, Your Grace." said Josephine. "Divine Justinia would not want her passing to divide us. She would, in fact, trust us, to forge new alliances to the benefit of all, no matter how strange they might seem." 

     For just a moment, her voice rippled its way to Dove, as if she were glancing at her, a telltale sign she meant for Dove to take those words to heart as well, and the Herald admired that of her. There was a pause before Durellion spoke again, contemplating her words, but he already gave up, and would not fight it. Mostly because the idea of fighting a descendant of dragon slayers was quite intimidating of an arrangement.

     "I'll think on it, Lady Montilyet." he said. "The Inquisition might stay, in the meanwhile." he reluctantly agreed. With those words, he left the room, leaving Dove and Josephine to both stew quietly for a moment on the encounter.

     "The Durellion's don't actually have a substantial claim to Haven, do they?" Dove raised a brow and smirked, making Josephine chuckle.

     "Their claim is...not as strong as he presents it, no. Despite their Ferelden relations, the Durellions are Orlesian, which you picked up on, obviously." Dove could tell Josephine was smiling, impressed. "If the Marquis wishes to claim Haven, Empress Celine must negotiate with Ferelden, on his behalf. Her current concerns are...a bit _larger_ than property disputes."

     "Add that to the fact that he would've had to spar with the Seeker. And the man's never had to duel in his life, at least not with someone like her. No doubt he's played the Game using... _other_ talents." Dove smirked.

     "How can you be so sure of that?" Josephine asked her.

     "His heart." Dove answered. "It pounded the entire time. Orlesians wear masks to hide their identity, their faces, so that their expressions don't give away their hand, their true intent, but...where they hide their faces, to someone like me, they give away so much. Everything else is revealed."

     "My word." Josephine chuckled. "So you really can hear a pin drop?" she asked.

     "And I can tell by your voice, cheri, that you don't believe it." Dove grinned. Josephine laughed again before sitting at her desk. 

     "You handled yourself well, if I might say." she remarked. "His Grace is only the first of many dignitaries we must contend with. And each visitor will spread the story of the Inquisition after they depart. An ambassador must ensure that the tale is as complimentary as possible, and no doubt you left quite the impression on him." she leaned forward on her desk. Dove batted away the compliment with a wave of her hand.

     "I did no such thing. That was all you." she said with a smile.

     "So, if I might ask, where did you learn about Orlesian custom?" Josephine perked up. "When you traveled with your outfit, I imagine?"

     Dove shrugged. "I always loved the idea of putting on a mask." she answered. "If no one sees my face, then no one knows I can't see theirs. It...evens the odds, I could say." she walked over to the desk, folding her arms, as Josephine hummed in response to her words.

     "Well, putting on a mask couldn't hurt in Val Royeux, I suppose." she said. "It certainly beats the alternative of the Herald of Andraste staring at the floor as though she speaks as if disinterested. It makes you look like you are grandstanding. _Pretending_ to care, when...you _really do_ care...don't you?"

     "That I do, my lady." she answered softly. "You know, you remind me so much of Evelyn." she inadvertently said aloud.

     "Who?" Josephine asked, bringing Dove out of her thoughts.

     "Who...what...Oh. Yes, Evelyn Trevelyan." she said with a bit of a smile. "It was her family I worked for when I was in Ostwick. A beautiful spirit she had. Laughed a lot too."

     "Mmm. The Trevelyans, I've heard of them. They have very strong ties to the Chantry. Funny that they should hire an Apostate mage to protect them." Josephine observed. Dove chuckled.

     "They...didn't know I was a mage." she admitted. "I carried a sword and shield, and left my staff with others of the company." She then shook her head and grinned. "There was _never_ any danger, in my book. Their villa was safe from the rebellion. But...their second son was a Templar, and died in battle. In their grief, they were terrified of losing their remaining children. Their eldest son was in Val Royeax, and Evelyn was right there at home. So I became her...body guard, I guess you could say. She and I became quite close." she leaned against Josephine's desk. "Oh, she had a way with words." she said fondly. "I always wished I sounded like her when I talked. Of course I spoke the common tongue well enough, but...not as eloquently as her. She sounded like a songbird, music to my ears."

     "Is she part of the reason you became such a...well adjusted individual?" Josephine raised a brow. Dove nodded.

     "She was expected to take her vows to serve the Chantry when I talked her out of it. She would only be doing what her family wanted of her, and I knew her heart wasn't in it. I'm glad I made that choice now. Otherwise...she would've been at the Conclave. She would be dead."

     "You miss her don't you?" the diplomat asked softly, and again, Dove nodded.

     "But I'm glad she's safe." Dove stood upright then, straightening her leather coat a little. "Now, might I ask why you addressed me as 'Mistress Adaar'?" she raised a curious brow. Josephine let out an exasperated sigh.

     "Why did I _know_ you would ask that, and make it sound like it's a bad thing?" she sighed. "The people must know who you are, Herald. They must not see merely a nameless mercenary, not with the power and influence we may gain with your divine title. The Herald of Andraste? They must recognize you _formally_ as a Tal-Vashoth, if they are to believe you are actually an Andrastian prophet. It could be good for us. Give it time." she assured.

     "Yes, but...are we making them believe this? Or am I really a prophet?" Dove asked her.

     "Well, what do _you_ think?" Josephine countered, of course, doing well at silencing Dove. She couldn't say. How was she truly to know? She still had doubts, and the words of Mother Giselle still lingered in the back of her mind. As well as Cassandra's. But could she outright admit how she felt, and not feel like a self-righteous fraud? She sighed, skirting the question.

     "Hmm, how about...we get the others and discuss Val Royeux? I have some questions, and we need that Breach closed."

     "Yes, yes, of course." Josephine stood up.

     With that, the two left the room, in search of a Chantry Sister, and an ex Templar of course, and Dove couldn't lie, she didn't have questions about Val Royeux, at least any that they could answer. She just really wanted to drag Cullen away from training and hear his magnificent voice again. His drum of a heart, and be near such captivating spirit.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I've heard Orlesians speak minor French words in-game, and I have done this in previous works, substituting French for a more 'lore-friendly' approach, I guess you could say. Apologies.)


	17. On Guided Wing

     The people of Haven were in a standstill. Crowds of worried faces gathering near the gate, the moment Dove departed. All extending to look at the tangles of white hair blown by the cold breeze whipping through the Frostbacks, atop a horse, and accompanied by Seeker Pentaghast, Varric Tethras, and even Solas, whom Cassandra said was 'growing on them', which made Cullen chuckle halfheartedly at the thought, knowing surely there was a joke attached to that. Leliana's people had been sent ahead to assess the situation in the city, and a few of Cullen's soldiers, some of the best, would escort them. And while the people looked after, wondering what was to become of them, wondering if Dove truly was the hero sent to save them, and if there really was anything she could say to the Chantry that would change things, 'turn the tide' perhaps...Cullen could only turn his gaze and march up to the Chantry for a moment, to pray.

     He didn't get a chance to speak with her privately beforehand, for as soon as the Inquisition's advisers arranged everything, Dove was ready to depart. He admired that of her. Andrastian or not, she would not sit idle while the Breach lingered. He had no idea what she was going to say, if she even believed the rumors, or knew anything of her faith. No one saw fit to tell him, if they did, and he didn't ask. But he didn't get the chance to tell her what he believed. She asked him before, 'If seeing is believing, then what does that mean to a person who cannot see?', and he made no reply. But he wanted to believe. That she was innocent, that she was their saving grace, led by the grace of Andraste, but...it wouldn't change anything. For both knew, in their hearts, it didn't matter what either believed if they could not secure an alliance to seal the Breach.

     It was quiet after they left, which was surprising. Aside from soldiers silently, dutifully training in the yard, and a few servants bustling about, Cullen imagined the village was quite somber because everyone that was faithful gathered at the temple after he departed, to pray themselves into omission. He, of course, went back to his post. His nerves were on edge, to no surprise. In attempt to distract himself from the uneasy feeling, he made demonstration to some of the recruits by sparring with a practice target, displaying and explaining proper form and technique. Of course, all that did was work him into a sweat, and did little to ease the discomfort. Before becoming too frustrated with himself, he dismissed the recruits, and called for his lieutenant to resume routine with the soldiers, and sauntered off into the woods to clear his head.

     He wanted to break something, wanted to scream and cry at the heavens, if only to sooth his splitting skull. He couldn't remember what he did that morning...and a nonsensical tune kept playing over and over in the back of his mind, though he had no idea the song it belonged to. He leaned against a tree, letting his forehead drop to the frozen bark, letting out a sigh, closing his eyes. He held onto that tree like a lifeline for a moment, trying to ignore the way his knees were only seconds from buckling. He knew what it was. It wasn't worry, or doubt, or fear. It was pain. Pain brought by neglecting something he'd been saddled with most of his adult life. It would be so easy to go back to his tent and find that cursed box, but it wouldn't fix the real problem. It wouldn't fix him.

     He breathed in through his nose, and let out slowly, opening his eyes to see the white mist that escaped. Funny, that Dove should enter his thoughts just then. A Qunari who had been abandoned, watched her father die in front of her, though she could not actually see it, surely she felt it. Locked away inside her mind, becoming savage, alone in the wilderness. Becoming mistrusting of people, relying on instinct, and how much time had passed, that she had been distanced from civilization, that she, for the most part, no longer resembled anything human, dwarven, elven, or even Qunari. And something brought her out of it. Somehow, for whatever reason, she chose to trust the Valo-kas, said they smelled different, and somehow, by a miracle, came back to the world. Came back swinging. A mage who could fight without sight, who shared hints of wisdom akin to a Divine, despite her age, who survived the terror at the Conclave. Regardless of the reason, he was undoubtedly convinced she was blessed.

     He closed his eyes again, bracing himself against the tree.

     The wind whipped about, stirring up the snow like dust, the sound of it entering his ears. It blew small bits of snow from the trees, and they dropped to the ground with a soft thud. A bird called nearby, somewhere behind him. From this distance, he could still hear the soldiers at work beyond the gate, hear doors open and close, the low murmur of voices, the crackling of fire, the bite and sting of the forge master. He could feel his head rest against his arm as he stood pinned against the tree, feel the tree creak in the wind that pushed against it. More birds settling in the treetops nearby, their soft coos, the flapping of wings. Then he could hear the slow and drawn out rumble of ice breaking somewhere nearby, over the lake, as the waters shifted it about. It would be spring soon. The ice would melt, and the earth would become fertile again.

     He realized suddenly, quite astonishingly, that his headache was beginning to subside. Perhaps he should do this more often. Close his eyes, let not the sight of the world deter him, but instead, judge it by the way it felt. Akin to the dove that flew to Orlais, with hope to convince the Chantry to amend, so that they could ally with either mages or Templars, or both, as Dove had hope for, and unite the people for the greater problem. Out there, in the woods, with nothing to distract, nothing to tear him away, for just that moment, left with only his own thoughts, and the sounds and smells of the wild, he prayed, yet again. This time, not for himself, or for the people of Haven, or all of Thedas, but...just for one person. He prayed for Dove. 

* * *

     "The city still mourns." Dove heard the Seeker murmur quietly as they entered the city of Val Royeux.

     Though she had never seen it with her own eyes, of course, Dove always found the sounds, smells, and the feel of Orlesian architecture, the bravado within it, quite alluring, and yet disturbing. That such beautifully smooth carved stone, painted faces, ruffled petticoats, lace and frill could thinly mask a layer of danger underneath. Rumors, political intrigue, whispers at parties, scandals, that all played sweet music while the dagger was twisted behind closed doors. That just beyond the gilded curtain, one so sensitive to smell could detect the trail of murder swept under the rug. But still, Val Royeux was rumored to be a beautiful city, and right now the whispers within it were not of royal scandal, but of the Inquisition, and the blasphemous Herald that allied with it. Dove let out a sigh as she and the others entered the gates, and almost immediately there was a squeal of terror from a citizen as they walked by.

     "Just a guess, Seeker, but I think they all know who we are." commented Varric without a touch of humor. Now was no time for jokes, even for one such as him.

     "Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric." said Cassandra dismally.

     "My lady Herald." said a woman that approached. Familiar voice. A scout. Dove nodded a little at the address. She knelt before them.

     "You're one of Leliana's people." addressed the Seeker. "What have you found?" she asked.

     "The Chantry Mothers await you, but...so do a great many Templars." the scout replied, a hint of fear mixed with alarm in her voice.

     "There are Templars here?" the Seeker asked her in surprise.

     "People seem to think the Templars will protect them from...from the Inquisition." the scout admitted. Well that wasn't good news. The last thing they needed was a public display with soldiers. Clerics they could handle, but...Templars? Not protecting the city from demons, but from them? Things were worst than Dove feared. She tried not to show it, however, 'staring' straight ahead.

     "They're gathering on the other side of the market." the scout finished. "I think that's where the Templars intend to meet you." She stood up, as Cassandra shifted where she stood.

     "Only one thing to do, then." she said to Dove as she started walking. 

     Of course. She took a breath. Time to get it over with. She followed the Seeker's step, and reluctantly Varric and Solas trailed behind her. Dove tried to concentrate on the soft tap of footsteps, the Seeker's boots as she walked rather gracefully for a woman who cared little for femininity, and more for her skills in battle, the care in her words, and the sharpness of her blade. Varric's steps that were as lively as they could be, considering the situation, but still a bit of a thud, as was for most dwarves, a saunter in his step. Solas' feet, barefoot, akin to Dalish, light and graceful, like a nimble cat, that but made only the slightest smack against the stone pathway beneath them. Above those sounds, however, above the clink of metal as a sword tapped the Seeker's hip, there were sounds of unrest ahead of them. Sounds that Dove could not ignore. And the sound that overshadowed everything else. Her heart pounding in her ears.

     The closer they got to the market, the more clearly Dove could discern the whispers she heard. People were frightened, and believed her the cause of all this, of course. Confirmed when she stood rigidly next to the Seeker and listened to the Mother's address. Make a show of her, indeed.

     "Good people of Val Royeux, hear me!" she addressed them, while Dove pretended to stare at ground in front of her for a moment. Stilling her racing heart. "Together, we mourn our Divine, her naïve and beautiful heart, silenced by treachery!...You wonder what will become of her murderer, well...wonder no more!" Dove could tell by the gossip stirring that eyes were turning her direction. The 'Qunari' that murdered the Divine, they believed her to be. "Behold! The so called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell!"

     All eyes were on her. She could feel it. She didn't need to see it to know. There were a few murmurs, some sounds of shock and awe for a moment, before silence. Silence as they waited for Dove to either claim innocence, or to admit guilt and drop to her knees before the Mother that introduced her so coldly. Regardless of the memory lost to Dove, she would _never_ murder the Divine, she felt it within her heart. Something truly evil would have to have corrupted her to do such a thing, of that she had been certain since the beginning. She took a deep breath, before she spoke, stepping closer to the stage that had been set to preach against her, steeling her emotions in the back of her mind. Anger, sorrow, loss...guilt...Stood straight and spoke with a calm, but clearly audible voice to those that persecuted her. Looking straight ahead as she let her proclamation fall from her tongue.

     "I _am_ the Herald of Andraste."


	18. Strange Flight Patterns

     "This is no Herald!" cried the Mother to the crowd. "This is a _false_ prophet! A wicked Qunari sent to subvert the Maker's word!"

     The crowd was in a tangent, whispers of shock and fear to subdue the senses, at both the Mother's words, and Dove's.

     "And do you know everything the Maker commands?" Dove asked her. "Look up in the sky!" she bellowed. "I alone survived the Breach. And I can...I _will_...end it!"

     "It's true." said the Seeker. "The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it's too late!"

     "It is already too late!" said the Mother, turning to the left of her, as heavy footed soldiers approached. The Templars. Dove could sense the Lyrium in their veins, and feel them staring at her. Led by something...something else. Something different. Similar, but...

     They took the stage.

     "The Templars have returned to the Chantry!" said the Mother. "They will face this 'Inquisition' and the people will be safe once more!"

     They walked right past her, though not before one of them slapped the Cleric to the ground. She let out a grunt, and Dove's blood boiled. There was no sense in harming an unarmed woman, even if she was too 'blind' to see the true threat. One of the Templars tried to approach her, but he was stopped. Stopped by the man that Dove could not discern the intent of.

     "Still yourself!" he growled. "She is beneath us!"

     Dove scathed at them, clenching her fists. "Was that meant to impress _me_? A show that you're not here to deal with _us_? If so, it isn't working!" she folded her arms.

     "As if there were any reason to." the man scoffed in distaste. Then he turned away. Cassandra followed his step as he exited stage left.

     "Lord Seeker Lucius, it is imperative that we speak with-"

     "You will not address me." he interrupted Cassandra's plea. Dismissing her as he made to leave.

     "Lord Seeker?" Cassandra questioned. Surprised by the attitude of her former superior, as he seemed to be. He stopped walking, and gave her a sideways glance, no doubt, one of minor disgust.

     "Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste's prophet? You should be ashamed!" he chastised coldly. "You should _all_ be ashamed!" he said loud enough for onlookers to hear. "The Templars failed _no one_ when they left the Chantry to purge the mages! _You_ are the ones who have failed! You who'd leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear!" he shifted his stance. "If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late! The only destiny here that demands respect is _mine_!"

     Spoken with malice...and envy. Harsh words that Lucius belted out...yet steady the drum of his heart. How strange. On the outside appearing outraged, disgusted, yet...on the inside rather disinterested in the affair, and that was rather odd. This was unusual, even for a Seeker, whose regimen, whose vigil, was similar to a Templar, but far more strict. But not even the most devout individual could hide from Dove's ears. Something was...making him say this, it felt like. Something that Dove could not sense the meaning of. She felt no telltale signs of corruption, but... She could certainly sense his lies.

     "Then with all due respect, Lord Seeker," Dove mocked, "We need an alliance that will seal the Breach! Is that not more imperative?" She folded her arms once more and waited for his deceptive response.

     "You are a _mage_!" he spat. That disfavored bit was honesty, as far as she could tell. "Your ties are worthless. All that stand with you are made traitors just by being in your company!" So it was the fact that the Herald of Andraste was a mage that deterred him? All of them? She could sense their uneasiness.

     "But Lord Seeker." said a Templar, a younger man, no doubt younger than Dove. "What if she really was sent by the Maker? What if-"

     "You are called to a higher purpose!" said another, most likely Lucius' second. "Do not question!"

     " _I_ will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the void!" spat Lucius to the questioning Templar. " _We_ deserve recognition! Independence!" he turned to Dove and her company. "You have shown us nothing! And the Inquisition... _less than nothing_! Templars!" he rallied. "Val Royeux is unworthy of our protection! We march!"

     With that, he turned and left, and the garrison of soldiers with him left as well. Dove couldn't believe it. That he was so jaded by his hatred for mages that he would allow a defenseless city to its own fate? Not even so much as attempt a negotiation with the Inquisition? And seek their own way to do...to do what? Had they some other means of closing the Breach, that she was unaware of? No...no that couldn't be it. Dove could sense no thing. It seemed evident that he had other plans. And Dove had an overwhelming sense to not trust him. Though...there were some among them that were worried. That questioned. That possibly sensed the real danger, but they were too devout to abandon the Seeker that could rightfully take charge of the Order, per mandate. She pitied them. No doubt he would lead them back to Ferelden, and continue his war against mages. Dove wondered, as they marched away, if the Inquisition could actually put a stop to the war without the blessing of the Divine. And wondered why the Lord Seeker didn't attempt to kill her right then, an Apostate, in plain sight. All very curious things.

     "Charming fellow, isn't he?" Varric commented, standing next to Dove.

     "Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?" Cassandra questioned in disbelief.

     "How well do you know him...on a personal level, Cassandra?" Dove asked quietly.

     "He took over the Seekers of Truth ten years ago, after Lord Seeker Lambert's death." she explained. "He was always a decent man, never given to ambition and grandstanding." she stated, with a bit of melancholy. "This is very bizarre."

     "It doesn't look like we'll be allying with Templars any time soon." Dove remarked.

     "I wouldn't write them off so quickly." Cassandra countered. "There must be those in the Order who see what he's become. Either way, we should report to Haven and discuss this with the others first."

     "Of course." Dove nodded in agreement. Then she sighed. Nearby was a woman still doubled over in pain from being hit across the face by a brute soldier. And Dove wondered if maybe the Mother actually regretted her behavior now. She turned away from the human, dwarf, and elf that accompanied her and followed the sound of the Cleric's heavy breathing, rocking back and forth a little where she sat, holding her aching body parts. Dove listened for a moment before stretching out her hand, offering to help the Mother to her feet. The woman let out a grown of disgust.

     "It should not have been this way." Dove murmured quietly. "The Lord Seeker's behavior." she specified. "It was uncalled for. But your display, Mother-"

     "And you played no part in forcing our hand?" the woman scathed. "Do not delude yourself...Now we have been shown up by our own Templars, in front of everyone. And my fellow Clerics have scattered to the wind, along with their convictions. Just tell me one thing." she raised her head, directing her gaze to Dove, judging by her words. "Do you _truly_ believe you are the Maker's chosen?"

     Dove sat down next to her on the stage. No doubt stirring unease in the woman, being so close to her. She sighed.

     "I was born blind." she sat out of the blue, causing the Mother to sit up a little straighter. "Many times I prayed that if there was something to believe in, that I would be granted sight. It never came. But...instead I was granted a vision." she leaned her head toward the Mother so that the woman could look closely at Dove's eyes, and see her grave expression. "If you cannot see that I am here to help, that I mean only to undo what has been done to tear apart this world, Mother...than you are more blind than me."

     She pulled the feather and olive branch from her coat pocket and laid it before the Mother, then rose to return to the others that waited nearby.

     "Well I'll be damned." muttered Varric as they walked away. "I knew it." Dove smirked, though quickly hid it.

     "Knew what?" asked Solas, relaying that he had not been listening to the conversation, but Varric apparently had been. The dwarf chuckled.

     "You seriously can't tell?" he asked the elf. "Or you just don't care?"

     "What is it that you mean me to care about?" Solas asked evenly.

     Just then, there was a thwack, an unmistakable sound. And arrow hit the pavement.

     "An arrow." Cassandra remarked, heading towards the sound. "It appears to have a message attached to it." She stooped to pick it up.

     "What does it say?" Dove asked, and again Varric snorted a little in quiet laughter.

     "Oh this makes perfect sense." he beamed.

     "You cannot read, Herald?" Solas asked quietly. Varric patted him on the back, causing a discomforted reaction from the elf, who obviously did not enjoy physical contact from anyone.

     "She can't _see_ to read." Varric murmured, leaning in close. "Blind as a bat. And here I was thinking you just didn't like people. And you let me believe it." he started shaking his head, the last bit of his sentence directed at Dove.

     "This is quite intriguing, Herald. If it is true, of course. That you are blind, yet behave well enough so that people believe you aren't?" Solas stepped closer, suddenly very interested in the conversation. Dove sighed.

     "The note?" she reminded them. Cassandra grumbled.

     "Here." the Seeker said to Varric, handing over the note. "That just sounds...ugh." she groaned.

     "'People say you're special'." Varric read. "'I want to help, and I can bring everyone.' Well, isn't that sweet. Ahem. 'There's a baddie in Val Royeaux, I hear he wants to hurt you. Have a search for the red things near the market, the docks and around the cafe, and maybe you'll meet him first. Bring swords. Sincerely, A friend of Red Jenny.' Oh you've got to be kidding." he chuckled. "A scavenger hunt for one of _them_?"

     "You know who these people are?" asked Cassandra.

     "I hear they're very...'colorful'." Dove remarked, before Varric answered. "Might be worth looking into. And no." she turned to Solas. "I don't hide the fact that I'm blind. I just...use other senses well enough that even you didn't notice." she smirked. Truth or not, the secret was out. Once the Chantry knew, everyone would know in the days to come. It would certainly make for interesting gossip, at least. Too late to turn back anyway.

     "Hmm, sharpened senses? Or magic?" Solas asked.

     "My word, Chuckles, was that... _sarcasm_?" Varric laughed. "Didn't know you had it in you."

     As much as Dove was fascinated by this conversation, other things were drawing their attention. Mainly, a finely scented serf, Orlesian, that approached them, surprisingly, considering the Chantry's display, and the Lord Seeker's argument, the whispers throughout the otherwise tranquil port city still buzzing in Dove's ears.

     "You are Mistress Adaar, I assume." said the man, and Dove nodded. "Then it is my pleasure to extend to you an invitation from the First Enchanter." he swooped a magnificent bow that sent wafts of floral perfume her direction. "Lady Vivienne would like for you to attend her salon, held at Chateau Du'Bastian de Ghislain, later this evening." he said. "We would be honored with your presence."

     He bowed again, most gracefully, and left them standing there. Dove stood in disbelief. She'd made a fool of herself in front of devout Andrastians, and now she was invited to a party, and had been left a trail of breadcrumbs from an enthusiastic underdog?

     "Hmm. Looks like I'm going to a party." she said quite smoothly, still listening to the man walk away. "With Orlesians?...I'd better get a mask." she spoke brightly, inwardly groaning at herself. She was absolutely certain that something about this day would come back later, down the road, to bite her in the ass.


	19. Expanding the Flock

     The party was already in swing when Dove arrived at Chateau Du'Bastian, but she was prepared for it. Varric got a laugh out of Dove hunting down a mask to wear. Solas found it intriguing that Dove should be so concerned with Enchantress Vivienne's guests seeing her face, when clearly she had horns, and in the company of Inquisition agents, surely people would know who she was. But Cassandra said nothing. Perhaps the Seeker had already guessed as to the real reason why Dove wanted to wear a mask, but either way, it didn't matter, as she already stepped into the foyer, and it was too late to turn back.

     "Mistress Adaar, representing the Inquisition." she heard herself be announced, amidst the tight pings of stringed instruments being played from somewhere, some nosensical tune she'd never heard, the low rumble of chatter, sipping of drinks, and the trickle of a fountain, all overshadowed by footsteps as people strolled about, mingling. Maker, she was really regretting letting Josephine publically announce her to be the daughter of Aban Adaar. Not that the name sounded bad, but...She kept calm and collected as she walked into the parlor. She had suggested that Cassandra and the others wait outside for her, but she now regretted it, as she could feel people gawking at her, and hear the whispers of the room change tempo.

     "Ah what a pleasure to meet you, my lady." said one of the patrons to her. "Seeing the same faces at every event becomes so tiresome." His voice was evenly toned, like most Orlesians, but his heart was racing. He was interested in this encounter. He'd heard of her, and most likely her horns were intimidating. She smiled politely, confident that her mask was hiding her discomfort. "You must be a guest of Madame De Fer, or...are you here for Duke Bastian?" he asked her.

     "Are you here on business?" asked a woman beside him with a light, arid voice, before Dove could answer. She was equally excited over this encounter. "I have heard the most curious tales of you, I cannot imagine half of them are true." 

     "Is that so?" Dove asked, and she felt the woman nod her head. "What do they say about me?"

     "Some say that when the Veil opened, Andraste herself delivered you from the Fade." she told her. Dove chuckled, giving them both the warmest smile she could muster.

     "Everything you've heard? Completely true." she told them. The woman laughed playfully.

     "Better and better." she cooed. "The Inquisition should attend more of these parties."

     "Yes it should." Dove said with a smile.

     "The Inquisition." said a man trudging down the stairs, who'd been eavesdropping. "What a load of pigshit." he spat. Oh, he was going to be fun, wasn't he? "Washed up Sisters, and crazed Seekers? No one can take them seriously." He walked past Dove and she could smell the alcohol and cheap cologne he wore. No doubt, at one point in the evening, he probably drank the cologne? He wasn't completely inebriated, but he was just drunk enough to make a show of her, trying to insult the Inquisition, get her to react. She said nothing at first, simply let him continue on his tirade. 

     "Everyone knows it's just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power." he proclaimed. 

     "You may be right, you may be wrong." she shrugged. "But what does it matter the _reason_ each individual of the organization acts, when, undoubtedly, the Inquisition works to restore peace throughout Thedas?" Dove asked him. He snorted.

     "Restoring peace with an army?" he asked. Oh, this man was dense. Or believed the Breach was propaganda? He stepped closer to her, trying to give her the impression he wasn't afraid of her, and perhaps he wasn't, as he was just drunk enough that perhaps he was under the impression that his balls were a lot bigger than they truly were. Fearless people could be dangerous, true, but he barely came up to her nose in height, judging by his voice. "We know what your 'Inquisition' truly is." he said to her face. "If you were really a person of honor, you would step outside this villa and let them arrest you for your crimes."

     No sooner than the words were spoken did Dove feel the sudden chill of ice magic. But it wasn't hers. Oh, how interesting. An ice mage joined the party. Before the gentleman that spoke could react, he was frozen in place, and Dove heard the familiar crackle of magic, similar to the sound glass makes when it breaks. Whoever did this was talented...Ah, there she was, coming down the stairs. Her magical aura was...well, it was actually quite lovely, though chilling to the bone, as she could sense traces of Lyrium in her veins, and the song it sung was a bit melancholy. She smelled of rich perfume, and was no doubt the matron of this establishment. Enchantress Vivienne, of whom Dove had come to see. She gracefully descended the adjoining staircase as she spoke.

     "My dear Marquis," she said smoothly, with a northern accent, "How unkind of you to be so rude in my house, and use such language before my guests." She slowly tapped her heels all the way over to where this Marquis was frozen in place. "You know such rudeness is intolerable." she reminded him gently. 

     "M-Madame De Fer," he struggled to address her through the enchantment that held him in place, freezing him to the core, and no doubt hurt, immensely. "I humbly beg your pardon."

     "You should." Vivienne told him. "Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?" she asked him, then turned her attention to Dove. "My lady, _you're_ the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?"

     "Oh judging by the sound of it, I think he's learned his lesson." Dove cooed with a smile. "I say let him go. Trust me, Madame, he can't harm me. Words are only harmful if the wounded party is insulted. I, however, find it comical." 

     "Hmm." Vivienne hummed, probably smiling. "It seems that by the grace of Andraste, you have your freedom, and your life." she said to the Marquis, snapping her fingers and unfreezing him. "Do be more careful with it, darling." she suggested.

     The Marquis sauntered off, heading suggestion and once more, Vivienne turned her attention to Dove. "I'm delighted you could attend this little gathering." she said warmly. "I've so wanted to meet you." The ripple of her hand waved across Dove, as she gestured for the Herald to join her in a quieter part of the hall, to speak more freely. Dove followed the sound of her footsteps, fascinated with how someone could walk so effortlessly in heels. She never understood it, but then again, she was never taught how to walk in them, and preferred her feet flat on the ground in order to feel the vibration of her steps.

     "You speak very well for someone of such humble background." Vivienne noted. "I must say your voice is delightful to hear."

     "I was tutored by a family in Ostwick." Dove told her.

     "How generous of them. Ostwick is it? Quaint, but I'm told the weather is lovely there this time of year." Vivienne cooed.

     "I hear it has beautiful vistas." Dove coined with a smile. "I'm sure they look lovely." Vivienne chuckled. 

     "So the rumor is true. You are indeed blind as a bat? Hmm, I can hardly believe it if it were true. But Andraste has granted you sight, then?"

     Dove didn't answer that, but instead remarked on something else. She was certain any response she gave would come back to bite her later. They were near an open window, and though it was nightfall, light shown through it, kissing her cheeks with its subtle warmth, and breeze came through to send waves of floral aroma to her nose.

     "Some say the moon is cursed, you know, believing it to be a magical occurance that it shines though there is only darkness at night." she stated evenly, recalling past discussions with her friend Evelyn about it. "No doubt it sparks inspiration for stories of wicked and quite dangerous creatures preying upon people during a full moon." she chuckled. "I find it fascinating. Admittedly, I became obsessed with astronomy because of the moon, and truth be told, its no more cursed than a rock or a tree might be. It simply reflects the light of the sun that has set." she shrugged. "But it's still romantic to think that the moon is somehow powerful, and sinister in nature, don't you think?"

     "My you are an interesting creature, I must say." noted Vivienne. 

     "And your heart is beating very fast, Madame." Dove raised a brow. "You are truly excited about this encounter. I'm curious as to why."

     Vivienne hummed a little. "Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard, and Enchantress to the Imperial Court."

     "Charmed, Lady Vivienne." said Dove with a smile and a nod.

     "Likewise. Though, I didn't invite you to the Chateau simply for pleasantries." Vivenne explained.

     "I assumed. So, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Dove asked.

     "With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles." Vivienne remarked. "Only the Inquisition might restore order to our frightened people. As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause."

     "Last of the loyal mages...So you are a supporter of the Circle of Magi, then?" Dove asked, knowing the answer, but wanting to hear her tone of voice and heart rate as she answered.

     "I am." Vivienne answered honestly. "Thedas needs an institution that will protect and nurture magic, Maker knows, magic will find neither on its own. I imagine you don't agree with my stance on that. A Tal-Vashoth mage? Considered an Apostate? I'm sure you were quite glad to hear the Circle of Magi was annulled."

     "I've never been apart of a Circle." Dove admitted. "It's not for me to say that it was right or wrong to annul them. It's not about the morals of magic for me. My prerogative is not the war, it is dealing with the demons that plague Thedas. But I'm certainly interested in the future of mages, as far as gaining an alliance to seal the Breach, of which I'm sure you're already aware."

     "I am." Vivienne agreed. "And I can safely assume that right now the Inquisition seeks allies that will consider the benefit of _all_ of Thedas, rather than part of it. I was informed of the Lord Seeker's display earlier today. His public announcement, branding the Inquisition heretics, confirming they intend to abandon the Chantry. Terribly dreary, I must say."

     "Yes, I'm sad to say that the Seekers of Truth have no intention to ally with us, at the moment." Dove amended. "We may be forced to seek allies elsewhere. It seems my plan to unite Thedas under the Inquisition's directive is...failing."

     "I can see that disheartens you, dear." Vivenne said with a hint of pity. Then she sighed. "I won't pretend it doesn't effect me that you have no interest in the outcome of the rebellion. You are, after all, supposed to be the Herald of Andraste, are you not? Interesting choice, if you ask me...But that you are not interested in seeking a peaceful resolution? This surprises me, as the Circle of Magi was the only magical institution to adhere to the Chant."

     "I didn't say I didn't want a peaceful resolution." Dove corrected defensively. "I simply stated that it's not my purpose to pick sides in the war. It's not my intention. My intentions have been to finish what Justinia started, in negotiating an alliance of both factions. Which is more difficult than I anticipated. Especially when there are demons falling out of rifts, and both sides are blaming the other, and the Inquisition for this mess."

     "Now now, child, no need to get so defensive." Vivienne chided. "You're all heart, I see. You really are the Herald of Andraste, aren't you?" she chuckled. "With your attitude, I'd believe it, provided it were true. Perhaps it's the Maker's way of saying we need a _new_ kind of order, who's to say? But the question remains, dear. Would you like for me to join your cause, and do my part to restore order, or not? The choice is yours, honestly. From what I hear, as there is no official leader to note, you're the one in charge of this little coup d'etat."

     Dove sighed. Maker, this woman was right, wasn't she?...Well, she _was_ a talented mage, as far as Dove could tell, and though she consumed Lyrium, a concept that Dove rather detested, she seemed likely to resist corruption by demons. Though Dove didn't agree with their methods, the Circles did take great care in assuring their mages could withstand possession. And Vivienne didn't appear to be corrupted by anything. Just...jaded in her opinion. So Dove relented. If Vivienne was perfectly fine with allying with an Apostate, perhaps she'd be useful, in some way.

     "I'm not in charge, though if you should find yourself in Haven, where the Inquisition is stationed in the Frostbacks, I will gladly send you there with my approval of your recruitment. The Inquisition welcomes the help."

     Vivienne laughed. "Well, aren't you coy. I shall find myself there, then."

     "Oh, but of course, you'll need something to provide the Commander, so that he knows you can be trusted." Dove added, just as Vivienne was about to walk away.

     "Ah, well, what did you have in mind?" she asked.

     Dove grinned from ear to ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I was debating on whether or not to add this, or skip over recruiting followers altogether, which is why I took so long to update, but I figured it would be interesting how Dove reacts to meeting a loyal Circle mage face to face, especially when that mage is Viv. I may or may not add more recruitment encounters, but I will definitely touch upon how Dove mixes with her followers in personality...plus, the mask. I had to have her wear a mask. It's her lifelong dream, people. I had to.)


	20. Hovering Over Things

     In the days to come that Dove concluded business in Val Royeaux, Cullen received some interesting reports. Namely, the Herald of Andraste standing head held high before the Chantry Mother, declaring her belief that she was sent by the Maker. It certainly turned heads, and provoked gossip. Whether she believed in that possibility or not, he couldn't be sure. It could've been all of Josephine and Leliana's berating that she too convince the people she was Andraste's messenger. Or...she could truly believe that. Regardless, it seemed it wasn't the only secret proclaimed of the Herald in Val Royeaux. Word quickly got back to the Inquisition that rumor spread among the faithful that the Herald was a blind woman given sight by the Maker, of which Cullen guessed Dove had nothing to do with. And he chuckled at the thought. She certainly didn't act impaired. If anything, that woman could see and do more than any among the Inquisition's ranks. Very perceptive she was.

     Lord Seeker Lucius took command of the Templar Order and withdrew from Orlais, back to Therinfall Redoubt in Ferelden, with no interest in aiding the Inquisition, which proved problematic. Cullen could not have guessed that they would be so blind to the threat before them, even if they didn't believe someone like Dove could be blessed by the Maker. Surely they would've taken into consideration the fact that the Inquisition did not mean to wage war on them, and only sought to close the Breach, but Cullen had been wrong. It would take a lot more than her display in Val Royeaux to get them to hear her. 

     Though a rather caddy letter from Tethras explained that the Lord Seeker outright insulted Dove for being a mage, though he didn't make an attempt on her. Which either meant he was intimidated, or had something else up his sleeve. Very intriguing, and somewhat humorous, considering the dwarf's words were, 'Snowflake says he doesn't smell right...What exactly does that mean? Was that her attempt at poking fun that he should take a bath? A lot of imagery there, Curly.'

     On the other hand, former Grand Enchanter Fiona, the leader of the mage rebellion, had been daring enough to appear in Orlais, appealing to the Herald, offering an alliance with mages instead. But everyone, not just Cullen, considered this invitation carefully. No doubt the Templars withdrawing meant she was inclined to believe the Inquisition would side with mages, possibly take up arms with them, should the Lord Seeker continue his war against them. He made it clear he intended to, but still, he sat idle in Therinfall, as if waiting for the Inquisition's next play before he made his move. Very curious, and all three advisers considered the possibility of securing another way to appeal to him. But for the moment, regardless of belief or personal opinion, the Clerics were scattered, and for the moment, the Chantry was temporarily subdued, allowing them to carefully plan their next move.

     In the back of the Commander's mind sat the Herald's words to him in the tavern. 'It's not about choosing a side, Cullen, it's about becoming bigger than both.' Dove didn't want to choose a side, seeing the potential political backlash, and it made sense. The Inquisition was not put in place for that purpose. It was meant to unite the people, and now, its purpose was to close the Breach as well. But they were backed into a corner, unless the Herald could pull some tricks out of her sleeve that no one saw coming.

     Added to all of that, two new agents arrived in Haven, to ally with the Inquisition, both at the behest of the Herald. The first to arrive, Madame Vivienne De Fer, who had been First Enchantress to Empress Celine, making her grand entrance something to be remembered, stepping out of her carriage, leaving her attendees to her belongings, walking briskly, yet gracefully, into the Chantry, catching Cullen in the hall. Dressed rather refined, in purple and white, with gold and silver trim, an ornate head piece adorning her head, and Cullen wondered if the horned piece was in favor of, or mocking the Herald of Andraste who possessed horns. Dark skin, dark eyes, that narrowed when she saw Cullen, making a beeline for him.

     "I assume you are the Commander." she said to him in a polite, but strained, voice. He nodded to her.

     "Madame de Fer, I presume." he said with equal politeness, as she stretched her hand out for him to gently shake it. Which he did, and immediately after, she flipped his hand over, palm up, to place something in it. Ironically, a white feather, and an olive branch.

     "I was informed by Mistress Adaar to give you these items when I arrived." she explained, and already he could feel laughter threatening to creep up. He stayed it, clearing his throat as she spoke. "Though I find the meaning of such items rather...perplexing, truthfully."

     Cullen opened his mouth, and was just about to speak, when another figure bounded across the hall, practically skipping up to them, with short blonde hair, pointed ears, red and plaid clothing, clutching something in her hand.

     "You the Commandy thingy?" she asked with a rather thick Ferelden accent, and Cullen could only nod. "Right, well, here you are, as requested. A pinecone and a salad fork." she said proudly, shoving the things in his hand. "Wait, that wasn't right, was it? You know, she might've said a cherry and a tree branch? Or somethin'? The Herald's a weird one, int she?" the elf giggled. "The hell are you gonna do with a pinecone, right?"

     "You must be Sera." Cullen noted, and the elf nodded.

     "A salad fork? Really?" Vivienne wrinkled her brow at her.

     "Well, I dunno. She said bring some things to the big tall ex Templar fellow, right? Well, there you go. I brought the things." she shrugged. "Maybe it's payback for me havin' her run around lookin' for things. She do this to people often, yeh?" she asked him. "An' look at you." she said to Vivienne. "A feather and a twig? What would he want that for? Wait...was that actually what we're supposed to bring? Or did you get it wrong too?"

     "Oh, I'm fairly certain I heard correctly. And it seems the Herald of Andraste has a sense of humor." she turned to Cullen. "You weren't expecting this at all, were you? I was under the impression it was meant as a peace offering. Items to hand you, so that you could be sure that we could be trusted."

     Cullen chuckled. "I'm not the least bit surprised by it at all, actually. And may I be the first to welcome you both to Haven." he nodded to them. "Make yourselves comfortable. I've already made some arrangements for you, and informed the other advisers of your arrival."

     "I'm headed to the tavern, if anyone asks about me." Sera said, winking at Vivienne as she left, producing a quizzical look from the Enchantress.

     "Is it common for the Inquisition to employ vagabonds such as her?" Vivienne asked.

     "It usually employs those willing to aid us in our endeavor." he shrugged. 

     "Ah, yes, well, for that reason, I suppose I can understand why Mistress Adaar chose to keep her. Though I wonder what use she will be." the woman cocked a brow. "So, what, exactly, is the significance of a white feather, and an olive branch, if I may ask? Though I find the Herald delightful, I also find her diversions rather...confusing."

     Cullen smirked. "Doves are white, Lady Vivienne. A dove holding an olive branch is a symbol of peace." he explained. 

     "If you were already aware of our arrival, Commander, why would she have me give you these items?"

     "I think she just wanted to ensure us you were no demon disguised as Lady Vivienne." he chuckled. "Though most likely, she was testing you. If you went out of your way to procure said items, she would know you meant well. The Herald wants peace, more than anyone. To someone without sight, there's no better peace offering, Lady Vivienne." he said, then he nodded and left the temple, leaving her to stew on that. 

* * *

     Not long after Enchantress Vivienne and Sera made their way to Haven did the Herald return as well, having concluded business in Orlais. She looked a bit more lively than when she left, but it wasn't hard for Cullen to pick up on the fact that things didn't exactly go as planned for her. Beside the obvious, that Templars interrupted her address of the Chantry Clerics, and the fact that they were still without allies needed to close the Breach, Dove was behaving differently. He imagined it had to do with the fact that she publically proclaimed to be the Herald of Andraste. But she didn't look happy about it. She still looked fairly tense, and it was odd how well Cullen could notice that about her. She stood calmly inside the Chantry temple as the Inquisition's advisers discussed what she and Cassandra learned in Val Royeaux. Not a strand of white hair out of place, which was also odd, as insofar she didn't particularly seem to care about her appearance, as she couldn't see it for herself.

     "It's a shame the Templars have abandoned their senses, as well as the capital." Cullen remarked, with some shame in his voice at what his former brethren had amounted to, as they slowly walked across the hall toward the counseling chamber. 

     "I don't think any of us could've expected it, Commander." Dove amended. "But it wasn't completely for nothing. It seems that though they aren't willing to support the Inquisition, the Chantry will refrain from outwardly shaming us with rumor and ghastly public displays from now on, so there's that."

     "But the question remains of whether to attempt allying with Templars or not." said Cassandra. "Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember."

     "Yes, I've been informed he has taken the Templars back to Ferelden, but to do what?" Leliana inquired. "My reports have been...odd. I'm not ready to say yet that he will continue to war against mages. Right now he is simply holding them at Therinfall, and nothing more."

     "He outwardly condemned me for being a mage, yet, he made no attempt on my life, in Val Royeaux. Though I imagine, by the way people acted, he could've gotten away with it." Dove made sure to mention. "Very peculiar, I think." Cullen couldn't rightly read her expression just then, but he imagined there was more to this story.

     "We must look into it." he suggested. "I'm certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker."

     "True." Dove relented.

     "Or..." Josephine cut in, "The Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe instead." she suggested. 

     "You think the mage rebellion is more united?" Cullen asked, stopping to turn and look at her. "It could be ten times worse." he folded his arms. Before Josephine could argue, the Herald intervened.

     "Either way," Dove said slowly and carefully, "I think it would be wise for all of you to refrain from bickering, and make a decision. The Breach is still in the sky, regardless, and since we do not have the power to beseech them both, it's one or the other, after all." She had her hands up for a moment as she spoke, but then they fell loosely at her sides in defeat. Disappointed, obviously, in this turn of events.

     "I agree." said Cassandra. Well, of course she agreed. 

     "We shouldn't discount Redcliffe." said Josephine. "The mages may be worth the risk." she shrugged.

     "They _are_ powerful, Ambassador," said Cassandra, "but more desperate than you realize."

     "You believe Fiona's invitation could be a trap?" asked Dove.

     "If some among the rebel mages were responsible for what happened at the Conclave..."

     "The same could be said about the Templars." said Josephine.

     "I don't think it was either of them." said Dove, shaking her head, looking concerned. All eyes were on her then.

     "You still hold yourself responsible?" asked Leliana, but Dove shook her head.

     "I don't know if I am, but from my understanding of the mark, it's not likely to have been caused by rebel mages, or Templars. But I have no evidence, either for or against either party, any more than I can remove myself from the equation. As I've mentioned to Cullen, I don't think picking one side or the other will matter, as long as their power can close the Breach. But if you pursue Fiona's offer, you may make enemies with Templars in the future. No doubt that's why Lucius is idle. He's waiting for you to decide."

     "Well, right now I'm not sure we have enough influence to approach the Order safely." Cullen informed them. 

     "Then the Inquisition needs agents in more places." said Cassandra. "That's something you can help with." she said to Dove with a smirk, and in turn Dove smiled a little, as if a plan were already forming in her head. 

     "In the meantime, we should consider other options." said Josephine. At that, the discussion was concluded, though before Cullen left, he overheard Leliana approaching Dove about another matter. It didn't seem fair that Dove had such sensitive hearing and could eavesdrop on them, but he couldn't without making it obvious he was intruding. But, maybe...maybe he could simply ask her about it later? And she'd tell him? After all, weren't they supposed to be friends? She...she did still want to be friends, didn't she? Whatever decision the advisers made, it wasn't going to affect the two of them, was it? He rather liked her company. He...well, he rather liked _her_ , didn't he?


	21. Preening Feathers

     Haven was a different place when the sun set. Cold and dark, with little sound beyond the roosting of birds and the wind whipping through the Frostbacks to churn up flecks of snow. Though torches still burned throughout the streets, the lamps in the tavern were still lit, and a few campfires, everything was silent and still. Not much beyond the sound of creaking wood as the nightly watch paraded the barricade around the village, and the occasional barking hound. A few servants finishing up their duties, closing shut tight the shudders of their cabins to keep in the heat before turning in. 

     But of course, the one thing to disturb the peace and serenity of the village. The one thing to stand out in the valley. Off in the distance, a swirling pool of green, making the sky seem to glow rather ominously, clashing with a black backdrop, and thick dark clouds that hid the stars from view. The one thing in the distance to remind them all that Haven was no mere quaint village in the mountains, and not merely a site of pilgrimage for weary travelers, aiming to rest their aching bones as they paid homage to the Maker, and recited the Chant within the temple's walls. A reminder that this was the base of operations for a military force that, at the moment, aimed solely to close that gaping hole in the sky. 

     A strong reminder to the Commander that stared at it from the open flap in his tent before sighing, cinching the cloth together, and returning to the makeshift desk where a single candle was lit, flooding the interior with light. Dove was lucky in that she could not see with her eyes the constant reminder of the horrors that took place when the Temple exploded. But he wondered if that were truly a blessing when every other sense of hers was heightened. 

     And the disturbing detail that though she couldn't see it, she could sense the Breach. Every instinct within him made him leery of that idea, of the powers she claimed to possess, and yet...he couldn't help but pity her, for some reason. Perhaps because in that sense, she suffered more than any other at Haven that shuddered at the sight of the Breach.

     He rubbed the back of his neck, restlessly massaging the kink he felt since early that morning. The pain was getting worse. It would've been easy enough to speak to Adan about a tonic to ease muscle tension and pain, perhaps something strong enough to cure his migraine, which was the source of all the discomfort, but he neglected to do so. Adan's skills were better put to use curing the sick and wounded, the elderly, and the children. They had limited supplies. No use fussing over one man who was perfectly capable of dealing with his own troubles. Well, _nearly_ perfectly capable, anyway. Out of sight and sound from the soldiers bustling about, and the other advisers, he winced, gritting his teeth as his fingers found a more tender spot at the base of his skull and the nerves that felt like they were on fire in that spot.

     He was still hung up on the conversation he, Leliana, Josephine, the Seeker, and the Herald shared earlier that day. The disappointment on Dove's face that the Templars should choose to possibly continue their war against magic, instead of concentrating on the Breach. But not all of the soldiers under Lucius' command were so willing to fight him. It seemed they more or less kept to their duty as Templars to obey the Order, and the Lord Seeker that reigned them in. No one could oppose his legal right to control the Templars. Not when the Divine, and all who could succeed her, died at the Temple. And not when it was imperative that the Inquisition act now, instead of waiting for the sanction of a newly elected Divine. After their conversation in the Chantry, Cassandra had pulled Cullen aside and went into greater detail about their experience in Val Royeaux. Explaining to him the difference in Lucius' behavior, and how out of character it was. She was certain that Lucius was being manipulated by something, and what or whoever it was...could be the true culprit behind the Breach. Furthering her belief that Dove was innocent.

     Commendable of her, for believing the Herald of Andraste to be innocent, but when she pulled him aside, she asked if he would council Dove on the matter. Mentioning how she noticed that the two of them were becoming friends, noting on how Dove seemed to trust and value his opinion. It sounded too much like Cassandra was attempting to bate him into pushing the Herald toward investigating the strange actions of the Lord Seeker, for she knew that ultimately the decision would end up being hers to make. She would be the one to sway the vote as far as choosing to negotiate an alliance with either mages, or the Templar Order. She was the one who had the mark on her hand, and she was the one Andraste sent to guide them. But Cullen didn't want to manipulate her. He agreed with Dove in the sense that it was not so simple as choosing a side in the war, or choosing which allies to aid in closing the Breach.

     It was then that he decided to admit to Cassandra in confidence that he'd stopped taking Lyrium. Though he was physically sound enough to handle training recruits, and more than capable of handling strategy and battle tactics on the field, he admitted he was in no emotional state to persuade the Herald in any way. The idea didn't sit right with him at all. Cassandra hardly seemed surprised by his decision to neglect Lyrium. She was well aware of his past. Not in any great detail, but she understood well enough why he left the Order when she recruited him. But she asked an interesting question. Asked if neglecting Lyrium had anything to do with the fact that the Herald of Andraste was a mage. 

     He didn't know how to answer that. But she agreed to keep this knowledge between the two of them, and agreed to keep an eye on his physical and emotional state, then dropped the subject. She didn't like the idea of having to replace him, should it be deemed necessary, and assured him that she would act only in the best interests of the Inquisition, and not her personal feelings on the matter. Of that, he was grateful.

     He was mulling the conversation over in his mind as he sat at his desk, rubbing his temple, staring at reports. How lucky to be blind and not have to sit and agonize over inventory, supplies, and ledger after ledger of horrid handwriting. His Lieutenant was never very good at penning things to paper. But he tried. It was then, in that moment, as he wiped sweat from his brow and grimaced, that he heard a soft, warm, and friendly voice coo outside the tent.

     "Anybody home?" Dove asked, making Cullen look up at the sound.

     "Enter." he said, stretching his limbs as he saw a mass of white hair and horns poke through the tent, and a hand popping through, holding a wine bottle. He had to do a double take, first at the bottle, then as he saw the most interesting thing accentuating her features. A white mask, matching in color with her hair, delicate, with small down feathers decorating it and tiny gemstones. It covered her eyes and cheekbones, but he could still see that she was smiling as she stuck her head in the tent. Her hair falling like water to the side as she leaned in.

     "Care for a drink?" she asked him, stepping inside. He gaped.

     "What's the occasion?" he asked, as a smile of bemusement spread across his face.

     "You _look_ like you need one." she joked, making him snort.

     "I bet I do. But what happened to the whole, 'Alcohol dulls the senses, Commander'?" he raised a brow, and she seemingly deflated, relaxing a she set the bottle on the desk, without missing a beat. Maker, was she really blind? There were moments when he didn't believe it still.

     "Oye." she groaned. "After the week I've had, dulled senses are definitely in order." she said, making him chuckle. "I wouldn't mind being a little, em... _normal_ , for once." she shrugged.

     He rose to search a nearby crate for some cups, and a corkscrew for the bottle. Was it terrible to say that he always had such things in his possession as of late? Seemed alcohol was all he could afford to ease his discomfort, and he was half worried he'd replace Lyrium with alcohol as a vice. He set the items on the desk. Drinking with the blind Herald of Andraste? Maker, this was...certainly interesting. But he was relieved that she picked him to get boozy with, someone she could trust to ensure she didn't do something she'd regret. Varric would probably only encourage her to do something stupid, he half figured.

     "So what's with the mask?" he asked as he twisted the screw into the cork, and she shrugged again, lifting it from her face to reveal those eerie white eyes of hers.

     "I don't know." she smirked a little, dipping her chin, looking like she was staring at it as she ran her fingers over the material, gently preening the feathers with her nails. "Varric picked it out for me. I wore it to Vivienne's party. I think I've grown a little partial to it." she chuckled. In turn, he smiled, sort of understanding why she liked it, and certainly understanding why Varric selected that one, even if she didn't. "I always liked the idea of wearing a mask, so people couldn't tell I'm not actually seeing them." That much he figured on his own. Sort of sad, though, that she felt she had to hide her physical uniqueness. 

     "Well, I think it suits you quite well, Herald." he assured as he poured the wine.

     "Why, thank you, Commander." she grinned, curtsying a little. Reaching out for the cup in perfect timing to his handing it to her. Then she sighed, dangling the cup before her lips, about to taste it when she paused. "You know? I think both you and I got the wrong idea about each other at the start of things." she remarked, then took a drink, wincing at the taste, and he grinned. She clutched her chest at how strongly, and sourly the drink went down.

     "Oh? How so?" he asked.

     She coughed a little. "Well, you know, me thinking you didn't like me because I'm a mage, and you thinking I don't like you because you were a Templar." she said. "That sort of thing. You were...partially wrong about me, you know."

     "Ah." he said, "And...what part did I get wrong?"

     "The part where you thought I didn't like you." she said, to his surprise. 

     He hardly knew how to respond to that.

     "You're a good man. When we met, it hardly mattered where we came from, or which side of the war we chose, when there were demons trying to kill us both. I was glad we were on the same side of things. And...you know, I never actually apologized for what I said that day, in the Chantry. I crossed a line, I know. And I'm sorry."

     He sighed. "There's nothing to forgive." he said, watching her expression change, as if she knew he would say that. "And I'm sorry as well." he said.

     "I did have something I wanted to discuss with you." she said, changing the subject. "Before I get too drunk to know what I'm talking about. I've...decided to meet with Fiona in Redcliffe, and hear what she has to say for herself. Cassandra agrees with the idea, though she did warn me to be cautious, of course." she said that as if he would be disappointed by this, and he bit back the words that sprung to mind. This was the very discussion he wished to avoid. "Fiona seemed very disturbed when she showed up in Val Royeaux, and I'm curious as to why." she continued. "She was afraid of something, that much I could tell. But I'm not certain of what."

     "Given the situation, it hardly surprises me she would be afraid." he said, sitting down at the desk, just as she leaned against it. "Or that she would offer an alliance to the Inquisition when Templars turned one down flat."

     "But that she would risk coming to Val Royeaux, risk exposing herself to the public eye, when rebel mages are still on the list of potential suspects behind the Breach?" Dove raised a brow. "Cassandra said they may be desperate but, there's a difference between desperate and stupid, you know."

     "Agreed." Cullen said as he took a gulp from his cup. "So...are you asking _permission_ , or...Is this one of those, 'Please don't despise me, should I decide it's a good idea to ally with mages.'?"

     She chuckled a little at that. 

     "No, it's more like preparing myself to do something stupid and possibly dangerous and I wanted your opinion first." she shrugged. He laughed.

     "Well, you're a free woman, Dove. Free to come and go as you please, for the moment, and highly influential. Likely, if we can't turn the Templars toward a better path, you might be able to turn the mages. You yourself are a mage-"

     "And supposedly chosen by Andraste." she added.

     "Yes, about that. Did you really admit that in Val Royeaux?" he asked, and she nodded. "Well, you're probably the best agent the Inquisition has to influence the rebels in Redcliffe. Turn their gaze toward the Breach. You're fairly level headed for someone in your position." he noted.

     "Yes, well, what concerns me most is making sure Fiona's offer is purely on the basis that the Breach is a threat to everyone. I want to make sure that they intend to ally with us of their _own_ volition, their _own_ desire to restore order, and not for any ulterior motives at play. Not because they seek amnesty from their enemies. I'm going to bring Cassandra with me. Might do well to have another mage with me as well."

     "From what I hear, the Madame knows Fiona personally." he remarked.

     "Yes, well, that may not be a good thing." Dove reminded. "I want to hear what she has to say, _before_ she sees the 'last loyal mage of Thedas', or whatever she called herself." she rolled her eyes. "I don't want her assuming I intend to apprehend her. I'll need her to trust me to get the truth from her. Interrogating a Grand Enchantress is a bit different than questioning your average individual with a thrumming heart. She may already be aware of my heightened senses. Perhaps Solas might be better suited for the situation? His offensive and defensive tactics are similar to mine. We fight well together."

     "I thought you didn't trust him. What made you change your mind?"

     "Oh, more or less 'watching' his ego deflate when Varric figured out that I'm blind before he did." she chuckled, and he in turn was quite curious of this. "But, seriously, I think it's because I have more in common with him than I thought. I don't think it's a matter of not trusting him, so much that it's him not trusting us. He's an Apostate surrounded by Chantry forces, afraid of his wings being clipped, so to speak. He honestly wants to help, but, like me, he realizes the danger his less-than-conventional practice in magic puts him in. And he has no personal investment in the war, that I've noticed. In fact, no personal gain at all, besides closing the Breach. He's useful, accommodating, but guarded. His fear is not misplaced, however. And I find myself understanding of his concerns."

     "So he really is just like us, you believe?" he asked, and she nodded. "He's like _you_?" Then she wrinkled up her face.

     "So, how come you have not once suggested I forget the rebels and seek out the Templars?" she asked, deflecting his comment. "I'm certain that not all of them agree with Lucius. But yet you haven't tried to persuade me to speak to them?"

     He sighed. "Because I promised myself I wouldn't."

     "Is that so?" she asked, and he nodded.

     "Yes." he remembered to say when he realized she couldn't feel him nod his head.

     "I'm not a Templar any longer, and I remind myself that quite often, as of late. I can't readily say it would be a good idea to pursue Lucius' men. Not without further investigation in the matter. And that, of course, is something we _all_ must discuss. Same with Fiona's offer, when you return from Redcliffe, hopefully in one piece. No one expects you to make these decisions on your own, Dove. And no one should be forcing your hand on the matter. Not me, nor anyone else. Not when you are the one with potentially dangerous magic that could kill you, and the risks are yours to take."

     She chewed on her lip. "Thank you, for that." she said quietly. The she sighed. "So, enough with all that. What's been going on since I left?"

     "Oh, you know, plenty of dull things no perplexing mage sent by Andraste wants to hear about." he waved off, making her smile. She had such a lovely smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Btw I owe an apology to anyone who had hope to read a chapter about Sera's recruitment with Dove involved. Basically, count on the fact that it plays out canonically to the game version. Sera's silliness is perfection, and you don't mess with perfection, right?)
> 
> (So...Cullen and Dove getting drunk together...? Shall we see where this goes?)


	22. Afraid of Heights?

     "So there I was, in the middle of it, and I could hear their bare feet smacking against the pavement, and their bare legs rubbing together." she wrinkled her nose. "She'd literally taken their breeches! She got a tip on where they kept their stores, and broke in. And you know what Cassandra had to say? 'Why didn't you take their _weapons_? Why did you steal their _pants_?'!"

     Oh her impression of the brooding Seeker was spot on, and the face she made had Cullen in tears of laughter.

     They were both sitting cross legged across from each other on his cot, boots cast aside, and some of their armor as well. Both relaxed, rather red faced from the now empty wine bottle set on the floor, cups that had long been drained, and Dove was telling him about her odd meeting with Sera. It wasn't surprising, really, considering how odd Sera seemed to be. But to be there and see the look on Cassandra's face. Something like that was worth a heavy sum of soveriegns to see. Cullen felt cheated, being deprived of that.

     "Maker, I can imagine that." he said, chuckling into his hand. "And to think, she actually _saw_ it."

     "Yes, but I could _smell_ it." she cackled. "And come to think of it, judging by the smell, they may not have been wearing _underwear_ either." she giggled, waggling her brows, suggesting just how much the Seeker was forced to see.

     "That's sort of disgusting." he said, and she nodded, clamping a hand over her mouth as she laughed.

     "I know, right?" She nearly fell off the cot.

     Neither one of them knew what time it was. But it hardly mattered at the moment. This was the most relaxed either of them had been since everything started. They let down their guard for once, and really had no choice, since inside the tent felt like it was the warmest day in summer. Cullen still sweat, even with his coat and breastplate removed, but of course, neither one of them were too stupid. Their weapons still lay within arms reach, just in case of an attack, and he never noticed before how simplistic her staff had been crafted. 

     It was intriguing, and rather reflected the Herald he conversed with. Not a Circle crafted stave, but one of an Apostate that had spent ten years alone in the wild, with little more than the social skills of a ten year old at one point, though one who was more connected to the world around her than any who could see it unfolding. Much like an acolyte staff, hooked at the tip, but no embellishment, just a simple wooden stick. As if it had once belonged to a shepherd, but was now a conduit for mana that fueled magic. He wondered if perhaps her father made it for her upon learning that, like him, she possessed magical ability, and it was simple in design because he was on the run from the Qunari nation, and had no other materials in which to construct a more intricate weapon. And she kept it all this time. Never strived for a more expensive weapon.

     "Why am I not the least bit surprised by all that?" he asked her with a smile, referring to Sera stealing pants. "You know what she brought me? A pinecone and a salad fork." he said, throwing up his hands in confusion. "The hell am I going to do with a pinecone and a salad fork?" he laughed.

     "Oh, gracious, no!" she giggled. "That is not what I told her to do at all, I _swear_."

     They laughed for another minute over the elf's childlike glee, but soon it died down, and she cleared her throat. He took advantage for a moment of the fact that she couldn't see to assess the attractiveness of her face without her notice. Her smile, the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed, cheeks enflamed, perfectly straight teeth. Feeling the slight twinge of discomfort in stomach at how disappointing it was that she just _wasn't_ human. Sure, they were compatible as friends, but...Well, that's as far as it would ever go, wasn't it?

     "Do you ever touch people?" he found himself asking, then hating himself when he realized how inappropriate that sounded. "I mean, well, um...huh." he rubbed his neck.

     "Touch people? Really?" she laughed. "Why in the world do you want to know _that_?"

     "I meant to feel what they look like." he amended, rolling his eyes. "I've seen others without sight do such things. Do you ever? You know, feel their face?"

     "You mean like this?" she asked as she smudged her hand against his face. "I don't really think this could give me an idea of what you look like though."

     "Mphmmft." was the sound he made into her hand, his voice vibrating into her palm, and she laughed.

     "What's that? I can't understand you with my hand on your face." she grinned. He pulled her hand away.

     "I said that's not what I meant." He shook his head and laughed. "Not like _that_. Like...well, like this."

     He cleared his throat, sitting a little straighter, holding up both hands, with which to slowly graze the pads of his fingers over her features, from her forehead, down to her chin. She jumped a little, as if she hadn't expected it, somehow wasn't able to predict when his hands would make contact with her skin. But she didn't stop him. This...this was the first time he'd actually touched her, besides shaking her hand, and the time she showed him how she could feel the warmth of the sun on a windowpane. It seemed rather trivial a moment beforehand, but as soon as he touched her, his heart leapt, and a nervous lump arose in his throat. This...was certainly not appropriate, was it? Thank the Maker she'd been drinking, and she wasn't as sensitive to his physical reactions at the moment. But then a thought struck him, making him remove his hands. She'd never let anyone touch her like that before, had she?

* * *

     Dove couldn't breathe.

     She'd stopped breathing when Cullen touched her face. She'd been joking when she palmed his face as if she didn't know what he was talking about. Of course she knew what he was talking about, and yes, she'd done it before, though only with the Valo-kas, and Evelyn Trevelyan. Only those she trusted most were the ones she'd ever been curious about. She never cared to know what anyone else looked like. She didn't need to. She could tell everything she needed to know about a person by the way they sounded, the way they smelled, the heat from their body and the pace of heart. Perhaps that was partly why people like Giselle, and Justinia, seemed convinced she was blessed with more clarity than others, because she never judged others by outward appearances. But there was a reason for that. It kept her from ever having to 'see' anyone as more than a stranger to her, it kept her from ever getting close. People could easily disappear as if they weren't there, and didn't matter, as long as she ignored the sounds they made. It kept her from being hurt. Though she _was_ curious.

     But what hit her the most was not the curiosity of what Cullen looked like. What made her stop breathing, and feel like her chest caved in, and her heart skip...was the fact that _she'd_ never been touched like this before. It wasn't like she'd ever met anyone who desired to touch her in order to assess her facial features. For a number of reasons. She didn't know how to describe it. She'd never felt it. There was no metaphor in which to compare the softness, the subtlety of his touch, his bare fingers across her bare skin. Slowly contouring her nose and cheekbones before venturing lower, across her jaw, and chin. It sent tremors through her spine, and it was all she could do to keep from outwardly reflecting this vulnerable feeling. 

     And to make things worse, his laughter, his voice, had been the only thing she could latch onto in order to know what he was feeling, know what he was thinking. And he was silent. Trouble enough that his withdrawal from Lyrium had physical effects that hindered her senses. But now with drinking dulling her sensitivity to his movements, she had no idea what he was thinking when he ripped his hands away, and cleared his throat just then. She didn't even know at what point she'd closed her eyes, or why she did.

     "Like that." he said quietly.

     "Ah...I...I see." she said, making him huff a little in amusement at her choice of words. "Well, I certainly wouldn't want to impose on you by, well, by assessing your face. It...doesn't effect my opinion of you in anyway, you know. But...I _am_ curious."

     "You wouldn't be imposing." he assured her.

     "Alright then." she shrugged a little, slowly lifting her hands to his face, feeling rather pretentious, at the moment.

     Even while sitting, he was of similar height, so it wasn't hard to find him, even without her senses to their full capacity. She could feel the heat rolling off of him in waves, the way it seemed to seep into her, warming her bones with his close proximity. Hesitantly she touched, and only then realizing that though other things were blocked, her touch was still as sensitive as ever, if not more. She moved her fingers over his forehead, feeling slight dampness from sweat, feeling the way it furrowed, as if he were concentrating, or frowning, or perhaps it reflected his age. Likely they were similar in age. His voice, and his physical prowess indicated he was about thirty, no older than thirty-five, at the most. His life hadn't exactly been kind to him, but he had soft skin. It wasn't terribly marred in any way, so far as she could tell. Slowly she drifted down to his brows, and his temples, feeling them throb. His pulse rose up to brush her fingers quite rapidly. He had a headache that still lingered, though the wine seemed to take away his inhibition, and he no longer seemed to care. Or it happened often, chronic migraines as an effect from withdrawal, which was common. 

     She felt him close his eyes as she brushed gently over them, feeling long lashes that no doubt many women were envious of, but she would never learn what color his eyes and his hair were, would she? His nose and cheekbones were average for a man of his height and build, and there was nothing out of place, though the bridge of his nose had just the slightest jaunt, as if he'd been bashed by a shield when he was younger, but it was not enough of a blow to notice now. Perhaps a lesson learned as an initiate to the Order. She felt his jaw tighten when she reached it, as if he swallowed, and she could feel the strength in it. Some stubble on his face, though very little, as if he often shaved, but forgot as of late. Other things occupied his mind. Other worries. A man that hid his pain well from others, who remained strong in the face of great danger, for he'd spent too much time being vulnerable, and refused to feel that way a minute longer. 

     And his lips. She brushed her thumbs over his upper lip, feeling the line of a scar on the right side, and though one could easily assume it was from training or fighting, it was older and she had a better guess of what caused it. _Tortured_ , her mind told her, as the memory of his dream entered her thoughts. _This man had been tortured, and refuses to be weak because of it, refuses to let anyone else bear the weight of his pain_. And there was something else. Something that felt off. He wasn't breathing. No air escaped his nostrils, as if he held his breath while she touched. But why? And how his mouth curled downward in a frown when she touched, and his chin...

     "Am I that ugly?" she heard him ask, his lips moving against her fingers, curling into a smile, and she drew away. "You have this look on your face like your utterly appalled." He chuckled.

     She huffed, dropping her guard and smiling. No, it wasn't because he was ugly, when in fact he actually wasn't, as far as she knew. But, of course, she didn't truly know what was attractive to others as far as outward appearance, and certainly never cared. But it wasn't that. It was the fact that apparently her concern for his troubles, her sympathy for him, had reflected on her face without her notice, and he took it that she didn't like what she felt. But she did. His face told a story, and touching him spoke volumes.

     "Well, at least now I understand why your not married." she quipped.

     "How did you know I'm not married?" he asked. She shrugged.

     "Because a man like you is already married to his profession, and I don't mean the Templar Order, or the Inquisition either." she chuckled, speaking truth for once. "But _honor_ , Cullen. You're a man of honor, and duty, and following the just course of action. Taking the right path, even if it isn't easy. You don't let anything distract you from that. You don't feel like you can afford to be selfish. Though others in the Order may yet marry, but not you. Never you, for a _million_ lives at stake are always worth more to you than _one_ indulgence."

     "And how do you know that about me?" he questioned, his voice a low rumble in his throat. He was speaking quieter now, and without the sensitivity to volume, she could actually hear the emotion in his voice, the...second guessing. That was it. He was second guessing his decisions, wondering if he was really doing the right thing. Disheartened, ashamed, that someone should speak so highly of him. She didn't answer that. Though she knew it to be true, all the same. And knew so much more than that.

     "Did you know that Lyrium has a song?" she asked instead.

     "Hmm?" was his response, confused at to why she asked that.

     "It's how dwarves find it when they mine for it." she said, and he made no comment, conferring whether or not he knew. Probably didn't care. At least until she elaborated. "Some people think it's an anomaly. A trick of the mind, much like the Fade itself. A hallucination. But most people overlook the fact that Lyrium is less like a rock, and more like a tree. _Alive_ , like a plant, with roots that branch out inside a person and take hold of their senses. It...changes a person, like gardening can change the landscape of a region. Like a living being can change the thoughts of another through their influence. It affects anything and everything it touches. That's why Templars exist. Because it can shape and mold even normal people, not just mages."

     "You can sense it, can't you?" he asked quietly. "You mentioned before you could smell it, but I thought you were joking. Can you... _actually_ sense Lyrium?"

     She nodded. "Part of my gift is my oversensitivity to it." she told him. "It's more like a curse though. That's why I don't take it. It's..." She struggled to explain it, without making it obvious that she knew he was withdrawing from it. He didn't want anyone, not ever her, to know, she guessed. "It's almost painful to be in the presence of it. Quite unsettling."

     "You've never taken it?" he asked, and she nodded. "Never, as in...never ever?"

     She chuckled. "Never ever."

     "How is your magical gift so strong then?" he asked. "So strong that you can...sense demons?"

     "I think it's because I rely more on other things that letting what I see effect me. I go by what I feel." Well, that was part of it. The most believable part anyway.

     "What's it like? Sensing demons, I mean. Seems like it would come in handy, considering that demons are currently a large concern."

     "Is _that_ why you're asking, or because you're afraid of me?" She attempted to meet his gaze, imagining what his eyes looked like, his expression. Wondering if it was the alcohol, or a fear of magic that provoked his curiosity.

     "I'm asking because I want to know." he shrugged. "I'm curious." The buzz was wearing off. His heart got louder, and so did his voice. Everything was honing in on him, and she didn't notice before how close they were sitting across from one another. She was no more than six inches from his face. She tore her face from his.

     "I think it's time for bed." she said. "Lots to do tomorrow, you know." she moved to get up, and he didn't stop her. Didn't attempt to goad an answer from her about demons either. He was so unsure of her still. She could feel it. Every second that passed, she felt less and less of the wine drowning them, and more of his physical presence in the tent, and she was getting cold. She rubbed her arms as she plucked her coat from the floor.

     "I don't think it's me, Dove." she heard him say.

     "What do you mean?" she asked, as she pulled the coat over her and pulled the length of cloth around her waist, cinching it tight. Then she reached for her staff.

     "I think _you're_ the one that's afraid." he said. 

     "Maybe I am." she shrugged. "Goodnight, Commander." she said with a nod, as she turned and exited his quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'd been planning this conversation in my head for a while now, and I may not still have it right, but...oh well. May be revised later. Idk.)


	23. To Touch An Angel's Wing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (slight nsfw ahead. slight)
> 
> (and yet another chapter I've had planned since the beginning. enjoy)

     Caught, like a fish in a net, struggling for air, as waves crash nearby to taunt and torture the deprived. The inability to breathe, or speak, or make sense of the world. A body that fights the weight of sleep that rests so heavily on tired, aching bones. But a body that eventually gives in to the lullaby that sings softly, coaxing Dove to sleep in her cabin at Haven. A slow and steady pull into the unknown that waited, the cold waters to sooth a fiery spirit into resting.

     She hadn't had a good night's rest in quite a few days. If it wasn't the memory of what she might have actually seen in the Fade, returning often to haunt her, or the thoughts of the Breach keeping her awake, then it was the Fade itself calling upon her. Spirits were often attracted to her, for many different reasons, as was common for mages, but it was worse now, and when she dreamt within the Fade, she touched upon them all. She could hear their pain as if spoken aloud, feel their anger, fear, and desire. She knew what they wanted most, what they craved. And it was want and desire that touched upon her that night, giving her the impression at first that it was the dream of a desire demon touching her bare leg that she assumed it to be, until she noticed the silence. The absence of a demon's thoughts, the absence of their pain. No, this was new. It was something that had only recently come to be familiar to her. This was her own fantasy coming to life around her. Not a demon's concoction, but her own volition.

     She'd never been touched like this before. Never cared to be. But that night, the dream was of a man, one who ran his calloused fingers along her thigh, and it felt so vivid, as if it were real. The hand floated across her skin so gently, inciting a gasp from her lips, igniting fire with the warm touch, and sending jolts of energy through to her core. She was still in her bed at Haven, she could feel it underneath her, but her clothing had been removed, and there was nothing to separate her from the man that scooted under the covers behind her, as his hand snaked up her back, and she could feel a warm body against her own. Her own heart roared in her ears like the beating of a drum, and illicit flames licked her senses, every muscle tightening in apprehension. The hand slid around her waist and rolled her over, gently nudging her, coaxing her into laying on her back.

     Then fingers drew lines from her collarbone, down between her breasts, to her abdomen, and she couldn't help but raise up to the touch, arching her back, letting out a sigh that echoed through the expanse of the room, as if it were no longer just a small cabin, but a large hall, and the echo bounced around it and finally back to her ears, her chin rising, her hands gripping the sheets as the fingers ventured lower, below her belly button, making her tremble as they threatened to move lower.

     "If every other sense is heightened," a voice growled lowly in her ear, "I wonder...how sensitive will _this_ be?"

     That voice. She recognized that voice. It was Cullen's.

* * *

     Cullen splashed cold water in his face the next morning, then settled on dunking his entire head in the frozen barrel, drowning out the loudness of people bustling about Haven. Sensitive, like the harem of his dreams. He felt worse now that he was sober. Dry mouth, feeling like he could drink an entire river, he was that thirsty, sensitive to light and sound, and his head throbbed. Hungover, partly, and just more shitty than he'd ever been, all around. But the night before was interesting. Sitting in his tent talking and laughing the night away with Dove, for a brief moment in time, forgetting the world was outside waiting for them. It felt good. But then when he asked her about sensing demons, and she spooked, shying away from him once more, she left his tent with hardly an explanation, and he didn't blame her. But he was determined to _not_ be that man anymore. The man who turned a blind eye to anything he didn't understand. The man who...who...

     The man who would have desired only to _kill_ someone like her.

     But then his dream. Such an interesting dream. Curled up behind her, his hands running over her soft skin. Maker help him. The sight of her naked before him, careening her neck, softly sighing as he touched her. He woke up hard as a rock, and all he could do about it was groan into the cot he lie on. He was attracted to her, wasn't he? Or was it just drinking that caused him to have such dreams? And mercy, what he said to her.

     _"How sensitive will this be?"_

     He felt ashamed. Having a dream about feeling up the Herald of Andraste, the Tal-Vashoth of the Inquisition, like she was some...well, some cheap harlot. And that just wasn't right. But for fuck's sake, it felt good. And for once, once in many nights, many nights of _nightmares_ for so long...it was no nightmare that he had. But just as vexing.

     He couldn't look her in the eye when they met with Josephine and Leliana after breakfast. Considerate of her to wait this time until they were more awake to berate them. He pretended to study the map, while he listened to Leliana reading Harding's report on the Storm Coast to Dove, the area she planned on traveling to, intent on scoping out a mercenary group that invited the Inquisition to 'see them in action', she had said. Josephine snorted at the choice in words, and Leliana's eyes glimmered with humor. As for Dove? She was more relaxed around them. She let her guard down, a little, no longer stressing over the fact that she couldn't see the map or read reports. 

     She discussed landmarks she could feel, sounds, smells, familiarities, rather than relied on sight. She admitted to Josephine that though she didn't take kindly to being called Adaar, she was grateful that she and Leliana attempted to reconnect her to her family. She explained to Leliana more in depth how her abilities worked when asked, and laughed at the Spymaster's jokes. She was open, and smiled more often, and she didn't 'stare at the floor' as much. But, of course, she wouldn't 'look' Cullen in the eye either, as often she attempted to do when he spoke to her. 

     Something bothered her as well, he could see it. But he didn't want to ask, didn't want to end up driving her back inside herself, and further away from him, not now, when she was finally starting to feel apart of the Inquisition, instead of somewhere on the borders of it. 

     She left on a good note though. She patted him on the shoulder as she left the counseling chamber, giving him a small reassuring smile. Whatever it was that bothered her, it must not have been him at least. Either that or she didn't want him to think that. Maybe eventually she would open up to him, eventually realize that he trusted her, the same as she trust him. By the Maker, she'd asked him to kill her if they found out she caused the Breach. In her eyes, that was not hate, but trust between them. But today was not that day, nor would it be any day soon, as other more important issues lie at hand. The Inquisition needed to extend its reach, and that's exactly what she planned to do. But he did manage to slip in a question that would perhaps reassure her.

     "The mark, does it still hurt you?" he asked her, his tone one of concern, as they made their way through the Chantry, causing her to lean her head his way. "It doesn't bother you, does it?"

     "No, not as much as it did before." she assured him.

     "Well, if it ever bothers you, please let me know. Perhaps I can get someone to help. Or, perhaps take Solas with you again, so he can assist you."

     "I...will. Thank you." She smiled tentatively, then pushed the door open, revealing bright sunlight, bright enough to blind anyone.

* * *

     "What are you smiling about?" asked Cassandra beside Dove as they ate breakfast. Dove shrugged.

     "I had no idea I was smiling." she said in earnest, shoving bits of food in her mouth.

     "Well, you are." Cassandra said. "You've been...quite agreeable, since we left Haven."

     "Yeah, I noticed that too." Varric said on the otherside of her. "Awful cheerful. Care to share your thoughts, Snowflake?"

     She chuckled. "I don't have thoughts about anything, I just..." She sighed a little.

     "I believe what interests them both, Herald," Solas interjected from the other side of the campfire, "Is that amidst mages and Templars at war, demons, bandits, and other atrocities, you are rather serene this morning, and they are curious as to why."

     She snorted. "I swear I don't know, I was just thinking about-" She stopped herself from speaking further, thinking better of it, then shoved food in her mouth instead to avoid talking. There was no way that any of them would condone feelings that arose for the former Templar, and Commander of the Inquisition. And if _Cullen_ ever found out...

     "I think I already know." said Varric, no doubt with an ear to ear grin, judging by the warmth in his tone of voice, the suggestiveness.

     "Oh do tell." she said with her mouth full.

     "You're wishing you could see how devilishly handsome I am." he joked. And she nearly choked on her bite, stifling crude laughter.

     "Ugh." groaned Cassandra. "Does anything other than tasteless joking come from your mouth, Varric?"

     "Heh, wouldn't _you_ like to know." he reamed. Then he paused for a moment, shifting in his seat, before turning to look up at Dove. "So, truthfully, what are you smiling about, friend? Got a love interest sparking to life that icy heart of yours?"

     She chuckled. "No."...Maybe? But certainly not one she'd ever mention. No future in _that_ relationship. She could hardly call having one inappropriate dream about a fellow agent of the Inquisition a relationship, anyway. It was barely a friendship. Very unstable ground to tread so heavily upon. Plus a gigantic metaphorical sign hanging above him that would probably say 'human only', if she could _see_ it to read it.

     "Oh come on. You can at least lie and say yes. It would give people something else to talk about besides demons."

     "It _would_ lighten the dourness, Herald." Solas relented, surprisingly. Perhaps just trying to be helpful.

     "Yes, it would." she agreed. "I swear I don't, Varric." she reassured. "I just...I don't know, I'm hopeful. Thinking that maybe things will take a step in the right direction? Praying that it's so. We gained an ally in Blackwall, and Grey Warden treaties to put to use. I'm hoping the same goes for these mercenaries."

     "Yeah. Uh-huh. Sure." he deadpanned.

     "That's what it is, take it or leave it. I hope these mercs can be trusted."

     "You've _never_ run across them before? When you were with the Valo-kas?" Varric asked, surprised that a mercenary would not know another from a rival group.

     "My company never mentioned the Chargers. If they did know about them, or know of them, at least, it was never mentioned to me. True, they were like family to me, but business is business, and not everything one does is another's business. Like now." she playfully nudged his shoulder. "Nosing into _my_ business." She laughed again. "But I hope they're good for business."

     "Have faith." Cassandra murmured beside her between bites, making Dove grin, and Solas said nothing, though she could feel his eyes upon her, glaring into her. She didn't need to see to know. He unnerved her. She'd lied a little when she told Cullen she trusted him. Yes, it was true they were both birds. But if she was a dove, he was most certainly not. They were both mages, but they were definitely not one and the same. She could feel it.

     ...After breakfast, Dove managed to shirk any lingering doubt, and any thoughts of Cullen that might distract her from the task at hand, allowing the full concentrated effort of her senses to take over. She'd already been briefed by Harding of the situation on the Storm Coast, reported rifts, bandits that were giving the Inquisition some trouble, and of the mercenaries that waited down by the waterfront to speak with Dove. Slowly and carefully she and her companions made their way down the mountain, away from camp, and Dove let the smells of the Coast overwhelm. She could feel the waves crash to shore, hear the thundering sounds, smell the spray, and taste the salt on her tongue. The air thick with rain, the ground like mud under her feet, not like more solid ground, different vibrations, different echoes from her footsteps. They swirled more incoherently about than taps she grew too used to hearing. She had to search for a moment for that old part of her that lived in places like this.

     She could hear the fighting long before the group was close enough for any of her companions to notice. But she heard the distinct thwack of arrows, the sharp slice of metal scraping against metal, the bashing of a shield, the war cries, and the stomping of boots in the slush of mud, then she smelled blood. Fresh and overpowering. These were not demons being killed. These were people. Bandits, most likely, preying upon the very people she was sent to 'see in action'. She could even hear the sound of Aclassi huffing, breathing heavily before tearing into another man. And then another smell came into focus. A smell that was distinct, familiar, and one she had not smelled in a very long time. One that made her hair stand on the back of her neck.

     _Qunari_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Again, apologies for anyone hoping for the Blackwall intro. Blackwall is my, admittedly, absolute favorite romance, and he's always good to have around in-game, but again, why mess with perfection, eh? Plus I wanted to gear up for Bull. As he is Qunari, his character will be more prominent within the story)


	24. Mixed Feathers, and Stormy Weather

     Cullen stood down by the frozen lake, looking out over the icy water. Updrafts of the wind's current caused swirls of snow to stir and drift aimlessly across the ice. The sun peaked from behind clouds off to his right, and if he stood there long enough, out in the cold, barren atmosphere, stood perfectly still as the clouds drifted over head, he could feel the sunlight on him, warm against his skin. There was a box in his hand, and he closed his eyes. The sun caused the inside of his lids to glow, so it wasn't as if he were trapped completely in darkness, but Dove was. She never conferred otherwise, and he could hear it in her voice.

     She knew the difference between light and dark, day and night, by temperature, but she'd never seen the stars. She'd never mapped the constellations. She knew when the sun was going to shine by the subtle differences in the atmosphere, but she didn't know it was golden yellow. She knew when a storm was brewing because she could sense the change in air pressure, the condensation of clouds, and hear thunder long before anyone else. But she'd never seen a rainbow. She knew when it was spring by the warmth, the melting of snow, and the flowers that bloomed, filling the air with new smells, antagonizing scents that pulled her in every direction, for she was so sensitive to them. 

     But she didn't know how beautiful Andraste's Grace was when it bloomed and the light hit it at just the right angle. A beautiful mystery, just like her. There was so much of the world she simply couldn't understand without sight, and it nearly broke Cullen's heart.

     The miracles she could sense, though. Amazing. She knew when a halla was with faun before it swelled, for she could feel the heartbeats of the young inside of it. She told him, Leliana, and Josephine that she almost thought she was a halla once, when wandering the Free Marches, for she spent so much time with a small herd of them that they accepted her as their own, and like them she had horns. Which was hardly believable that beasts of the wild could be so trusting of a two legged species, but...she didn't know halla were _white_.

     He'd counseled Giselle for guidance, asking about their conversation in the Hinterlands, and asked how she knew Dove was blind, a revelation that was quite vexing to Dove, and Giselle told him she saw it in a dream. She believed it was an answered prayer. A vision from the Maker, that Dove was sent by the Him to prove to the world that one need not see the Maker with their own eyes to believe. That faith was blind, and instead came from the heart. She believed that Dove carried the olive branch for Thedas, that her actions could bring peace to a nation at war. And that an Apostate and a Templar, said mage and soldier being Cullen and Dove, could set aside their differences, lay down their blades of war for the greater good was proof that the Inquisition could give people hope. Hope was what they all needed. Without hope, there was little chance for peace.

     Ten years ago, he would've gladly hunted Dove, dragged her to the Circle of Magi against her will, and put her to death, should his Knight-Commander see fit to deem it necessary, and gave the order. He would never have questioned, and he would have killed her himself to obey the principals of the Order, the principals of the Chantry, and to protect Thedas. He would've _killed_ the Herald of Andraste without pause. Should it have been decided upon, he would not have argued against stripping her of her hopes, her dreams, her passion, her sense of humor, the light that flowed from within, and her beautiful smile, would not have stopped her from being branded Tranquil. Branding her with something that she feared. Lyrium. Stamped on her forehead.

     And now he stood out by the lake, clutching a box. Inside that box was a draft of Lyrium that he'd hidden under his cot, out of sight, out of mind. But his conversation with Dove wouldn't let him forget about it. _Lyrium can shape and mold anyone, not just mages_. As a Templar, he'd been well educated in the physical, as well as spiritual properties of Lyrium. He'd been educated of how it effected mages, and strengthened their connection to the Fade, thereby strengthening their magical abilities. He'd been well versed in how it effected Templars in a physical, as well as emotional sense. He'd been well versed in a great many things he assumed truth. It was so different just then, being aware of it inside the box, feeling it in there, almost hearing it call to him, and knowing it was just inside. It was his instinct calling to his senses. His training, his memories, locked in that box. But he was _not_ a Templar any longer. 

     Though he understood their power, their capability, and believed that good, and trustworthy men could aid Dove in sealing the Breach without killing her, or inadvertently killing them all, he couldn't guarantee they could be trusted, any more than Apostates. They abandoned their principals, long before the Inquisition was ever reformed. Long before the Circles were annulled. He knew that. And he knew that ultimately it would come down to the Herald's decision to make. It was not his place to decide her fate for her. Not any more.

     Not unless he should learn she was responsible for the Breach, and the terror that spread through Thedas like wildfire. Then, and only then, would he be forced to contemplate executing her. But after having known her, he didn't think he could do it. He couldn't kill someone he so easily called friend.

     He cocked back his arm and threw the box as hard as he could, aiming for a section of the lake where the ice was breaking apart, and bits of it wobbled and sloshed around when the box landed, floated for a moment, before filling with water, and sinking to the bottom. He partly regretted doing that. _Partly_. Lyrium was a hard commodity to come by as of late. If Templars were agreed upon as an option to sealing the rift above the valley, every available draft of Lyrium would be needed to aid their power. Already the Templars that left Hinter, and the few survivors from the Conclave, that allied with the Inquisition, were on edge, beginning to withdraw from Lyrium in slight, and had to ration their own personal supplies. They weren't as bad as Cullen, but they could be. Eventually. But as long as that box was inside Cullen's tent it would eat at him, and distract him, tempt him to give in. This moment, as he watched the sinking box, flopping down onto the snowy bank, this was his olive branch. And he needed it. He needed peace, and he'd never find it without hope. 

     And Dove could give him, and all of them, hope. He admired her more than anyone in the world for that.

* * *

     Voices rang in Dove's ears so loudly, and seemed to lash out like lightening in the sky to her senses, the boom and crackle of a hammer making contact with metal breastplate, a guttural noise, followed by a satisfied grunt.

     _Qunari_. 

     She could almost imagine the giant with his auspicious horns, or perhaps he had none, how was she to know, for he sounded as if he greatly enjoyed the bandits' fear of him as he tore them apart. He sounded as if he enjoyed being so intimidating, and very much reveled in battle. A true warrior of the Qun. Or he could just be a jerk. While the others flanked the enemy to aid the Chargers in battle, Dove just stood there, listening to the sounds of the fight for a second or two, before one of them got too close. With a flick of the wrist, the man was now on the ground with an ice spike through his head, and Dove leaned once more on her staff and listened, undisturbed, to the battle cries, boots sliding in the mud, waves lapping the shore, and the wind whistle as it made its way across the Waking Sea. She managed to avoid open confrontation with Templars in her youth, but she was a merc, and not unfamiliar to the ways of battle. But to _enjoy_ taking the life of another? If there was one thing she despised, it was those who reveled in death, like this giant.

     She was grateful to have never entered the Qun, grateful to never have been forced to be a weapon like her father's name implied they were. Grateful to not be saarebas belonging to the horned nation like a sword belonged to a soldier.

     She suddenly wished she'd inquired further into this 'Iron Bull' Aclassi spoke of at Haven. Had Dove known he was not just of the Qun, not Viddathari, but Qunari by blood? She might not have accepted the merc's invitation. A Qunari enforcer joining the Inquisition could only mean one thing. Her father's people would learn exactly what she was in no time. Unless he was Vashoth, or a traitor himself. But either way, she had a very bad feeling about this. She steeled her nerves as the fighting drew to a close, and bodies were shuffled about and kicked to the side, as if they were cattle.

     "Krem! How'd we do?" bellowed the giant, stinging Dove's ears with the intensity of his voice. 

     "Five or six wounded, Chief, no dead." Aclassi called back.

     "That's what I like to hear." praised the Iron Bull. "Let the throatcutters finish the job, then break out the casks."

     Dove slowly stepped forward, strapping her staff to her back, then folding her arms, taking in the harsh, pungent scent of the warrior before her. To him, she probably looked like she was assessing his appearance behind the feathered mask she wore, but of course, she did no such thing. He chuckled when he noticed her approach.

     "Hot damn, it's true." he laughed. "Oh, the Chantry must love you. A Qunari mercenary is the Herald of Andraste? Who'd've thought?"

     "Vashoth." she corrected with a scowl. "Tal-Vashoth as far as the Inquisition's concerned. But no matter, either way, I am no Qunari. You're off to a poor start if you're assuming I'm such. You must be the Iron Bull." He huffed at her words.

     "The horns give it away?" he asked.

     So he had horns then. That looked like a bull's. Good to know, however irrelevant at the moment.

     "No. It was the smell." she quipped, and he burst out laughing.

     "I think I might like you." he retorted, then the ripple of hand movement got her attention. He was waving, motioning for her to join him away from the others to engage in conversation. There were footsteps behind them, someone following. The Iron Bull sat down on a rock next to the water, and Aclassi came up beside Dove.

     "I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant." said the giant, and Dove nodded.

     "Good to see you again." the human remarked. "Throatcutters are done, Chief."

     "Already? Have'em check again. Don't want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem."

     Aclassi chuckled. "None taken. 'Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari right?...No offense, Herald." the human added quietly.

     "None taken. I'm not Qunari, but I have no idea who my mother is." Dove admitted with a grin. She liked Aclassi. Though she struggled to figure out why the human chose to masquerade as he did. But that 'Krem' was Tevinter? Interesting. And so were these misfits that attacked? Even more interesting. Maybe they were related to some of them. Maybe... _they_ were related. Aclassi walked away with a bit of a laugh, leaving her alone with the Iron Bull once more, who let out a sigh.

     "So, you've seen us fight," she had to fight from snorting when he said 'seen', "We're expensive, but we're worth it. And I'm sure the Inquisition can afford us."

     "Well, the Chargers do seem like good company to keep." she admitted offhand with a shrug.

     "They are, but you're not just getting the boys, you're getting me." _Oh joy_ , she thought, rather sardonically. "You need a frontline bodyguard, I'm your man. Whatever it is. Demons, dragons? The bigger the better." He rose as he spoke and moved just a bit further from the Chargers and Dove's own companions that were still waiting nearby, before he spoke again, a bit quieter. "And there's one other thing. Might be useful, might piss you off...Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?" he asked.

     Dove backed up a step, every nerve suddenly on edge, hands slowly curling into fists. 

     "I take it you _have_ heard of us." said the giant. "Would it have anything to do with-"

     "So, you're Ben-Hassrath." Dove interrupted. "What do you want with the Inquisition?"

     "Same thing everybody else wants." he said defensively. "The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic like that, out of control, could cause trouble everywhere."

     "True." Dove noted. 

     "I've been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what's happening." Iron Bull explained. "But I also _get_ reports, from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I'll share them with your people."

     "So you expect me to believe it has nothing to do with me, personally?" Dove asked. "Nothing at all?"

     "Yes. As far as anyone's concerned, the daughter of Aban Adaar is dead, and they want to keep it that way. They think you're lying about who you claim to be. In fact, I thought you were, until I met you. I take it your friends don't know what you are?"

     Dove's jaw clenched. "No. They don't. And I intend for it to _stay_ that way."

     "It will." Iron Bull assured. 

     "You expect me to believe that, when you admitted you're a Qunari spy?" Dove asked, hardly believing any of this conversation, and wishing she'd never come to the Coast. "Why admit to that, anyway?"

     "Whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it's _bad_. Someone needs to get that Breach closed. So whatever I am, I'm on your side. Believe me. I'd be found out eventually anyway. Can't hide from something like the _Inquisition_."

     "You're asking me to take a lot on faith." Dove argued, and the giant snorted.

     "Yeah, well, I hear you do that a lot, being a Herald for Andrastians. They think you're a prophet. Faith is your profession, _besides_ slaying demons." he chuckled. Dove snorted. He made a good point.

     "Alright, fine. As far as I'm concerned, you're hired. As long as personal information about _me_ gets left _out_ of these reports of yours."

     She could feel Iron Bull nod his big horned head.

     "It will. No one will know you're half human but me." he assured. " _And_ the agent that sent me, who failed to kill you twenty years ago. Probably." He held out his hand for her to shake. "They're not telling anyone."

     Dove shook his hand, eventually, exhaling the breath she'd been holding for most of the conversation. The giant's heart was a steady thrum in his chest. Either he wasn't lying, or he was good at it. She could only take his word for it. And have a little faith.

     "Eh, all your friends are human anyway, right? Or not giants at least. It's not like they can tell." Iron Bull chuckled. "I figure the horns on your head make them think whatever they want, anyway. So, Ferelden, Orlais, what? I'm curious."

     "Tevinter." Dove answered. He laughed.

     "Holy shit." he said, then hummed. "I wonder if you and Krem are related."  
   
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (So. There it is. For anyone who didn't see that one coming, you can close your mouths now. But isn't Cullen sweet? Metaphorically burying the hatchet with his throwing the Lyrium into the lake symbolism?)
> 
> (And for anyone feeling cheated out of a 'true Vashoth/Cullen pairing', saying making her half human doesn't count, there is a big reason for this, and it's a major plot device I've been planning since the beginning that will effect things later. I implore you give it a chance, and just bear with me. Plus now you know why she's so short.)


	25. Rising Tempest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (So sorry updates are so slow. My focus has been all over the place. I'm currently neglecting other works so I can concentrate on this, as well as Iron Dragon, mostly those two, but I've had other ideas pop up. Hopefully updates will be more frequent in the near future.)

_Please," pleaded the giant, who'd been forced to his knees, "Kill me if you must, but spare my daughter."_

_The Qunari only gripped the girl tighter by the hair atop her head._

_"That thing you call a daughter is an abomination." said the agent. "Imessar-bas." he spat in her ear. "Do you know what that means? Do you even know our words? It means demon child. You should not exist."_

_Adaar struggled against the Qunari that pinned him against the tree. The knife that slit across his neck made little sound, but the blood that spurted was so loud in the girl's ears. She could smell it. It smelled like the birds Adaar hunted, killed and cooked over the fire. His body slumped to the dirt. He was dead. But she did not cry for him. He would not want her to. She felt the bloodied knife press against her own throat, making her choke and sputter._

_"No." said another. "Not this one."_

_"We were given orders!"_

_"This one is a child. This is no demon. Let her be taken back to Seheron. She will enter the Qun, and be one of us."_

_"Basra vashedan!! It is a beast! Leave it to the wolves!"_

_"No." The agent that wished to spare the girl stepped forth and unhanded her from the others. "What say you, child? Will you come with us?"_

_"No." she said weakly. "I am not Qunari. I am not human. I am both. And I am neither. Vashoth. I will not be a weapon for your people like my father." she pledged. So strong, so unbroken the spirit of the child._

_The Qunari sighed. "Na'thek. So be it. Go then. I will dispose of her."_

_"But-"_

_"GO!" the agent spat. Seconds seemed to last forever in that moment, as the Qunari stood over the child, blade in hand, poised above her throat. The minute dragged out, as the footsteps of the others slowly faded away. When they could no longer be heard, the Qunari sighed again._

_"Pray, child, for mercy on your soul."_

_"I don't need to. My father showed me how to have faith. I pray for you."_

_"Panahedan, little one."_

* * *

     "Alright, so what's the story with this...Iron Bull?" Cassandra asked quietly made camp at the Hessarian outpost that night, after the others fell to their tents. Much in the fashion that was rather becoming the norm when traveling, the Seeker and the Herald were still awake, long after the sun set, the trials and tribulations of the Inquisition keeping them both awake for a bit longer than others. Even the soldiers that now manned the fort were a slumber, or settled in for their night watch. The fire crackling was the only other noise besides Cassandra's voice. She could sense Dove's uneasiness toward Bull, and attested this after meeting the Qunari.

     "He admitted he's Ben-Hassrath." Dove replied. "I'm fairly certain that he's the one who gave Leliana the information about Aban Adaar. He _could_ have. If he was so willing to admit his purpose, he might've been willing to share information. He did say he could get information from the network, offered it freely. Offered to hand them information that could improve relations. If Leliana had any worry about him, I'm sure she would have warned us before hand. Resourceful, that woman is. I can see where this could benefit us. As well, he's a decent warrior. His Chargers are good fighters, willing to combat the demons we face. They remind me of the company I belonged to. I'd say they'd make a good edition to the Inquisition's forces."

     "And you say that is if you're convincing yourself of all this." Cassandra remarked. "You don't trust this Iron Bull. Why not?"

     Dove sighed. "I don't know. It's, well, it's nothing personal against him. I don't trust Qunari. Much as I share their blood, they're not my people. If anything, they're my enemy. If I'm truly the daughter of Adaar, they killed my father, and left me for dead, in the middle of nowhere." She shrugged after admitting this, as if it shouldn't really matter. In truth, it shouldn't. At the moment, the Inquisition needed all the help it could get, all the 'manpower' it could get. Should it matter that she just invited into the organization a giant who knew Dove's most treasured secret? What did it matter in comparison to the threat they faced if they didn't seize an opportunity?

     "You are not your father, Herald." said Cassandra. "You are no traitor, I'm sure of that. You should not carry a twenty year old grudge that is not your burden to bear. You have a greater destiny ahead of you."

     "Only you, Seeker, can say just the things I need to hear." Dove chuckled. "You and Cullen. What is it with you two? I don't know what I'd do without you both."

     "It's the Commander, isn't it?" Cassandra asked, quite suddenly, doing a good job at confusing Dove just then.

     "I...what?" the Herald's face scrunched up at the question she heard.

     "It's Cullen. The man you have feelings for? But you will not address this because he's human, and you are not?" Cassandra paused after that, and Dove could feel her face heat with embarrassment. "I do not mean to pry, nor will I judge. But I understand why you would not want to speak of such a thing."

     "Please don't." Dove pleaded, and she heard the Seeker sigh.

     "Trust me, I don't intend to." the Seeker scoffed. "You have bigger worries than having unrequited emotions for someone. We all do. We still need to discuss this alliance with either Fiona, or the Lord Seeker. I pray to the Maker Fiona is not setting us up."

     "As do I, for when we leave the Coast, I'd like to head straight to Redcliffe to speak to her."

     "So you want to ally with her then?" Cassandra asked. Dove chuckled.

     "I want the Breach closed, Seeker, as do we all," she said. "I'm like you, I don't intend to simply stand in the fire and complain that it's hot. Let's freeze the flames first, and then we'll find who started them."

     Cassandra chuckled, finding favor of this notion.

* * *

     An indescribable feeling creeped down Dove's spine, a feeling she'd never felt before. She was so used to pushing emotions she couldn't process to the back of her mind and ignoring them, but this time, the ability was lost on her.

     He knew what she was. Knew _exactly_ what she was. And it unnerved her. It came to little surprise, considering he admitted he was Ben-Hassrath, and while she briefly wondered if he was telling the truth, for no agent would be sloppy enough to outright admit they were a spy, but once he recounted her origins with such clarity, she was certain he was telling the truth. There was no other way he could know. But what his true intentions were, she hadn't a clue. While she managed to quell the Seeker's worries where the Iron Bull was concerned, she couldn't help but dwell on it still, as tiny fractures split and grew into larger splinters in her heart.

     The instant she smelled him, flashes of memories, other sounds, smells, and feelings, were refreshed. The sound of her father pleading for her life, the feel of large hands gripping her hair and clutching her shoulders, holding her in place, gripping her so tightly her bones cracked...the smell of blood when the blade was slid across her father's throat...then the smell of her own blood...A shudder traveled down her spine and swallowed her body whole.

     There was no reason to dwell on it, for it was in the past, would never change, would never be undone. But for the first time in a very long time, Dove felt something different than the gentle waves of acceptance, she felt unrest. Disturbed, beyond comprehension, and it worried her. Everything worried her, and it showed on her face, for her companions made reassuring comments at her side as they made their way to Redcliffe's gates. Though they assumed it was tension brought by uncertainty of Enchanter Fiona's intentions. They had no idea that it was really caused by her past.

     As for Fiona, and her intentions, Dove had a guess that the Enchanter's concerns were for the fact that currently mages were suspect, branded criminals, believed to be responsible for the Breach, and her fear was for the repercussions of this accusation. Even if it was revealed that mages did cause the explosion, if they were made to see that their actions could be redeemed if they helped the Inquisition to close it, perhaps that would bring some peace to those that feared them. And whoever was responsible could be brought to justice. Perhaps that's what Fiona's offer was about. If Dove truly wasn't responsible for the chaos, maybe Fiona knew who was, and offered them in exchange for amnesty. For it was no secret that tensions were high in Redcliffe due to Circle mages seeking refuge there.

     Redcliffe was very loud. Much like the Coast. It's village was full of people, of sounds, of smells. The water lapping the shore, the wooden docks creaking as they moved with the tide. The sounds of dockworkers lifting crates, people shuffling about the paths, and she imagined it was more than the usual sounds, with so many refugees occupying it. So much discord, and she could feel it, as if it were her own, it was so close to the surface, more so than usual, and she wondered why.

     They rounded the bend, approaching the gates, when a sudden agonizing scream interrupted her thoughts. Well, perhaps that was the answer right there.

     It was no human, nor was it an elf, which was an immediate cause for alarm. Dove's stomach tightened into knots upon hearing the demon's wail. She felt an increase in magical aura. Old, raw magic from the Fade, twisted and stale. An open rift.

     "There's a rift near." she said to her companions, with a cautionary tone. Almost instantly Cassandra and Varric sprang to action, rushing ahead, expecting a fight, though Solas hung back with her. His heart beat faster in his chest.

     "Your hearing is very perceptive." he remarked as they neared the fighting. She simply made a curt nod and continued her trek wordlessly. No, it was not the sounds of fighting, nor the wordless screeching that she picked up. It was the sound of pain that traveled to her ears.

     " _Get away_!" it screamed. " _Get away from me_!" It screeched, and she faltered. Something was different about this rift, though she couldn't sense exactly what it was. But something was...off.

     She and Solas constructed barriers in a familiar and synchronized motion, and while the elf provided cover for Varric as he loaded his crossbow, Dove did the same thing for Cassandra, who was closest to the rift. Her steps slowed down, all of a sudden. She was still moving, but now her movements were labored. As if everything...slowed down. Dove sidestepped to avoid an aspect of Terror that popped up behind her. _'I'm sorry'_ , she thought, _'I promise you will find peace'_. It chilled when she Fade Stepped through it, then turned to shoot blasts of cold until it broke apart, released from the terror of being forced into the waking world against its will. Torn apart, essentially dead, but at peace, finally. Soon the others were put to rest as well, but the manner of this unusual rift still evaded her.

     Some sort of temporal magic, it seemed. Someone had been experimenting on this rift? Someone in Redcliffe? Redcliffe was full of mages, perhaps that was it. But why?...There was more going on here it seemed. The aura felt...foreign. Down in the village it was noisier than ever, whispers of the Inquisition coming to call, and wondering what that could mean. 'Will we be forced to leave?' 'Will they help us?' 'Will they take us back to the towers and lock us away?' So many worried whispers, so many hurried footsteps, so many shifts in vibration, all at once. It was hard to focus. Dove let out a steady breath, and held the door to the tavern open for Cassandra and the others, thankful that her mask covered half her face, and half her uneasiness.

     Immediately the air shifted, and there was silence. Not total silence, but so much of an abrupt change that Dove's heart skipped. She swallowed the lump in her throat. None of the aura filling the room matched the magic on her hand, so the culprit was not there, but something strange filled the room, besides the smell she recognized as Fiona.

     "Welcome, agents of the Inquisition." Fiona addressed calmly, though she seemed to have an air of unrest within her. Dove simply nodded politely. "What has brought you to Redcliffe?" the mage asked, and Dove almost did a double take. She didn't know? Or was she feigning surprise for some reason?

     "Your invitation, Enchantress." Dove reminded cautiously. "You offered an alliance with the Inquisition, to help us seal the Breach. We met in Val Royeaux?"

     "You must be mistaken." Fiona countered, and the woman next to her shifted. "I haven't been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave."

     Dove's brow furrowed behind her mask. "If it wasn't you who invited us here, then who was it?" Behind her, her own companions shifted, at the comprise of this situation.

     "I...don't know." Fiona said. "Now that you say it...I feel strange...Whoever...or _whatever_ brought you here, the situation has changed. The free mages have already...pledged themselves to the Tevinter Imperium."

     "An alliance with Tevinter?" Cassandra inquired. "Do you not fear all of Thedas turning against you?" Dove inwardly cringed at that sentence.

     "Andraste's ass." Varric muttered. "I'm trying to think of a worse thing you could've done, and I've got nothing."

     "I understand if you're afraid." Solas assured her. "But you deserve better than slavery to Tevinter."....No one liked the Imperium, did they? Thank the Maker for people like Krem. One good 'Vint. Dove was about to say something about this, when Fiona dismissed them.

     "As one indentured to a Magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you."

     "But what about the Breach, Fiona? Surely you could-"

     Dove's words were stopped by a new smell overwhelming her senses as someone entered the tavern behind them. Something familiar, but unidentifiable. The hairs stood on the back of her neck. She stopped listening to Fiona's explanation of why they were ignoring the Breach, when she felt that feeling trickling down her spine. _Old magic_.

     "Welcome, my friends." said the stranger. "I apologize for not greeting you sooner."

     "Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius." said Fiona, most politely, composed and quite formal just then.

     "The southern mages are under my command." informed the Magister. "And you are the survivor, yes? The one from the Fade? Interesting."

     "If you're leading the mages now, perhaps we can talk." Dove suggested, doing her best to keep calm. "Come to an arrangement, maybe?"

     "It's always a pleasure to meet a reasonable individual." said Alexius. "Come, let's talk then." His hand broke through the ocean of energy between them in a wave, gesturing for her to sit with him.

     Why did she have a terrible feeling about this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Qunlat Translations  
> Imessar-bas: 'demon child'  
> Basra vashedan; 'foreigner trash', usually refers to non Qunari ideas, or sometimes people, in this context, used to convey the idea is stupid  
> Na'thek: 'as you wish'  
> Panahedan: 'goodbye', literal: 'take refuge in safety')


	26. Birds of Paradise

     Dove gingerly sat down at the table across from the Magister, quite unsure of how to feel about this encounter. It was easy to understand why she felt so insecure in the presence of the Iron Bull, particularly when he revealed his connections, but she wasn't sure how to feel about this Magister. She was no stranger to the ways of the Imperium. She'd heard about these people, and none of what she heard was good. But if the letter Cullen read to her about her father was to be believed, these could be her people as well. In a way. If it were true. If her mother was Tevinter. If so, it changed a lot of things. She was looking at the world from a new perspective.

     It also raised new questions, and she needed the answers.

     At the moment, what mattered was discovering Alexius' motives, and so she quelled her rising emotions, carefully tucking them back, and concentrated instead on her assessment of this man. He sounded... _expensive_. That was the only word she could think of. He jingled, and he smelled of perfume. But there was something else, something in his magic that stirred interest, and concern. He was calm, perhaps smug, and the leather of his gloves groaned when he clasped his hands together, leaning back in his seat, eyes probably boring into her, judging her right then and there. She didn't like this man, but she was curious of him.

     "Felix, would you send for a scribe? Oh, pardon my manners. My son Felix, friends."

     A young man approached the table, creaking the floor, bowing politely perhaps at his introduction. Ah, that was the smell. It wasn't Alexius, it was him. It was the Magister's son that filled the room with the strange scent that unnerved her. He turned and left their presence, aiming to do his father's bidding.

     "I'm not surprised you're here." Alexius said to her. "Containing the Breach is not a feat that many could even attempt." Hmm. He said that like he knew, first hand. Interesting. "There is no telling how many mages would be needed for such an endeavor. Ambitious, indeed."

     "Does that mean you'll consider lending your mages to our cause?" Dove questioned. 

     "There will have to be-" Alexius was cut short when Felix approached once more, though his steps were uneven, as if he were weighted. Was he going to be sick? Maker.

     Dove abruptly stood, aiming to help the lad, when he collapsed in her arms. She felt something being slipped into her hand, and her heart leapt. Was that an accident, or...

     Alexius gasped. "Felix!" he exclaimed.

     "My lady, I'm so sorry, please forgive me." Felix said to Dove, then quickly squeezed her hand, emphasizing what was inside it, before letting her assist him to his feet.

     "It's alright. Are... _you_ alright?" she asked him, and she felt his body flutter, as he nodded, conveying he was well.

     "Yes, yes, I'm alright." he mumbled. 

     "Come, I'll get your powders." Alexius said to him, ushering him out of the room. "Please excuse me, friends. We'll have to continue this another time...I'll send word to the Inquisition. We'll conclude this at a later date."

     Just as quickly as they'd arrived, they left, just like that, and Dove felt her stomach lurch. Something was seriously wrong with that boy, and she had a guess as to what. She pitied them both. It seemed though he was somewhat distempered, and a bit detached, Alexius was trying to be discreet about his son being so ill, and was quite worried for him. His heart faltered at his child's sudden sway.

     Dove let out a sigh. Well then. Now what? Would he help them, or not? She fumbled with the bit of paper balled inside her hand, wondering what it was. Around her, footsteps retreated, as the mages occupying the tavern left, and convened elsewhere.

     "Dove?" Cassandra approached, probably interested in her sudden frown and wrinkled brow, trying to make sense of the thing in her hand.

     "Cass, what is this?" she asked quietly as the Seeker shuffled over, followed by Varric and Solas.

     "It's...a note." she said, and Dove held it out to her. She took it in her hand, unraveling the parchment, aheming quietly. "'Come to the Chantry, you're in danger'."

     "That doesn't sound good." remarked Varric.

     "Indeed." said Solas. "There is a Chantry proper just up the hill from this establishment, Herald. Shall we go there, and investigate this?"

     "Cass, what do you think?" Dove asked, and she made an indiscernible grunt, debating on an answer. Then she sighed. 

     "We should be cautious, but...Yes, we should see what this is about, at once."

     She felt the warmth of the sun hit her face as she stepped outside, and heard the soft padding of Solas' feet rush past her, then Varric's boots, then Cassandra's. She followed them with care, allowing her companions to lead her to the temple up the hill. She felt a cross breeze whip across her, giving her chills, cooling her fiery skin, nervous, on edge, on alert, listening for the sounds, breathing in the air. _Pain_. _Torture_. _Torment_. A rift.

     "Oh, not again." she muttered.

     "What?" asked Varric.

     "Demons."

     "A trap?" Cassandra asked, and Dove shook her head.

     "A warning." Dove told her, and hurried to open the door.

     Inside was a myriad of emotions, sounds, and smells. One set in particular, that made Dove stop in the door, and the others bump into her. A man, grunting, the roar of fire, the smell of burnt flesh. A fire mage. She gaped for a moment as she assessed the situation, hearing a demon screech and then dissipate, the crackle of fire defuse, and the man whirled around.

     "Good! You're finally here!" exclaimed a rather exuberant, and chipper, proper accent. "Now help me close this, would you?"

     Before Dove could remark, or really do anything else, the rift waxed and waned, as if sensing the magic on her hand, and the demons on the other side sensed all of them, were forced into the room, spouting through the rift like water spilling from a tumbled vase, out onto the floor. Quickly she Fade Stepped, but was pulled to a near stop when she neared the rift, which was strange. Everything slowed down once more, even her heart. It amazed her...and frightened her. Everything came to a standstill, but it had its advantages. The troubled spirits also slowed when they entered the temporal displacement, and it gave her a half a second more to plan her next move. Instead of right, she moved left, albeit slowly, and avoided the spirit's attack, dragging her feet back to her previous spot, where the displacement didn't occur.

     Her heart felt like it would explode when she returned to normal, every sense on edge, accounting for every spirit in the room, screaming their discomfort at her. Moving at a faster pace this time. She used the stranger's gift for fire magic to her advantage, and followed his fiery blows with bouts of ice, the sudden change in temperature causing the demons to explode. When the room quieted, she attempted to step toward the rift once more, extending her hand, feeling the magic tug at her spirit as it worked to close it. With a crackle, the rift was gone, and now she could address the mysterious figure that laughed behind her.

     "Fascinating!" he gleamed. "How does that work exactly? You don't even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers, and poof! Rift closes."

     "How observational of you." Dove remarked, producing another chuckle from the stranger. "Who are you?" she asked.

     "Ah, getting ahead of myself, am I? Dorian Pavus, most recently, from Minrathous. How do you do?"

     "Another Tevinter." remarked Cassandra. "Be cautious with this one."

     "I...think this man is on _our_ side, Seeker." Dove pointed out. "What do you want with us, Mister Pavus?"

     "Such suspicious friends you have here." said Pavus. "Magister Alexius was my mentor," he explained, "So my assistance should be valuable, as I'm sure you can imagine."

     "I can," Dove reluctantly agreed. "But...what exactly do you plan on assisting us with?"

     "Why, all these rifts, demons, and terrible magic running amuck, of course." he said, matter-of-factly. "You're a mage, I see. No doubt you can see for yourself that these rifts are not normal rifts. Well, what's normal about a rift? But these are unique even so. So I thought I'd grace you with my handsome face, as well as knowledge of what Alexius is up to."

     There were so many ways that whole explanation just wouldn't work, mostly because she _couldn't see anything_. But he thought he was handsome? How _humble_ of him. She let out a breath, and listened to the shifting behind her, her friends most likely sharing glances, but staying silent, waiting to hear what their Herald had to say.

     "Let's say I believe you." She leaned her head, honing her senses in to his smell, his body heat, radiating still from exerting mana, and his pulse. "Why would you betray Alexius? Why give up your mentor like that?"

     "Alexius _was_ my mentor." he said. "Meaning he's not any longer, not for some time. Look, you must know there's danger. That should be obvious, even without the note. Let's start with Alexius claiming allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself."

     "Time magic." she murmured. Then she shook her head. "While it seems plausible that Alexius _could_ have used the tears in the Veil to create minute fractures in the time continuum, therefore allowing for _minor_ temporal displacement, like the rifts, what you're suggesting is... _time travel_. Time can be shifted, but it cannot be undone."

     "Yes, that's what I thought too. Good job, by the way, on your own observational skills, Miss Adaar."

     "She's not the only one to make such an observation." piped up Solas. "What your suggesting is quite farfetched, though it is fascinating in theory. The power needed to create even minor distortions is-"

     "Yes, well, as you just saw, _somebody_ figured it out, didn't they?" Pavus asked, then sighed. "This is as dangerous as it sounds, Miss Adaar. The rift you closed here? You _saw_ how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up, slowed others down-"

     Varric groaned. "Snowflake-" She put up a hand to stop his words, and allow Pavus to continue. They could discuss her blindness later.

     "-Soon there will be more like it. And they'll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it's unraveling the world."

     "You're asking me to take a lot on faith." Dove warned. "Even if this is possible-"

     "I _know_ what I'm talking about. _I helped develop this magic_."

     Cassandra gripped the hilt of her sword.

     "You just _admitted_ to playing a hand in all this." Dove commented. "If you're brave enough to admit _that_...you're quite serious, aren't you?"

     "Indeed I am." he said, with a very serious tone of voice, more serious than his mannerisms had already been receding to. "When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work. What I don't understand is _why_ he's doing it. Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?"

     Dove chewed on her lip. "He's not working alone." she mumbled. The door opening behind her made her turn, staff in hand, until she smelled the familiar smell. Felix. She relaxed her arm.

     "He didn't do it for the mages." Felix told them, making it obvious he'd overheard some of the conversation. 

     "Took you long enough." said Pavus. "Is he getting suspicious?"

     "No. But I shouldn't have played the illness card. I thought he'd be fussing over me all day." He turned to Dove. "My father's joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves 'Venatori'. And I can tell you one thing. Whatever he's done for them, he's done it to get to you."

     "Lovely." Dove deadpanned. "So what do the two of you suggest we do?"

     "You know you're his target." said Pavus. "Expecting the trap is the first step to turning it to your advantage. I can't stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn't know I'm here. And I want to keep it that way for now."

     "Good idea." Dove agreed.

     "But whenever you're ready to deal with him, I want to be there. I'll keep in touch." He turned away, most likely to head out a side door to the temple. "Oh, and Felix? Try not to get yourself killed."

     "There are worst things than dying, Dorian." Felix said to him. At that, he turned to leave as well, and it was only Dove, Cassandra, Solas, and Varric then.

     "I got a bad feeling about this." said Varric. "So what do you think, Snowflake?"

     "Well, if you ask me, Alexius is planning a trap? Why not plan one of our own?"

     "I like that idea." said Cassandra. "But if you plan to work with that man, I _must_ implore that you tell him you're blind. If I have to hear _one_ more snide remark about 'seeing things'...ugh."

     Dove chuckled. "Trust me, I know the feeling."


	27. Shot Out of the Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to update!

     Cullen incessantly rubbed the back of his neck as he stared at the report on his desk. Troop movements were halted in the Hinterlands due to a sudden increase in bandit activity. When the rifts were closed, it allowed for safe passage through the mountain pass, but it also made it safe for bandits to attack supply lines coming into the Frostbacks. It seemed that every time they moved one step ahead, something pushed them backward two paces.

     And it didn't stop. It seemed neverending. While their influence was spreading with every move Dove made in the field, it also meant more enemies were taking notice. And since the Inquisition had yet to seal an alliance with either mages or Templars, both sides of the fight were constantly attacking their soldiers. Rogue mages and Templars were everywhere, and only just that morning did someone report scouts missing, possibly taken hostage, in the Fallow Mire.

     Both Josephine and Leliana thought it best for Dove to investigate when she returned from Redcliffe, as there may be rifts in the area, and unless the Herald sealed them, they would continue to wreak havoc. Cullen wished there was more they could do. It didn't seem fair that they should so highly depend on her, and not allow her a moment's rest. Because of that, Cullen almost refused to rest, and worked himself to death at Haven, coming up with strategies that might lighten the workload.

     If Dove were willing to push herself so hard day in and day out like Cassandra's letters said she did, Cullen should give no less than that to the Inquisition. If the Herald of Andraste were willing to put her life on the line for Thedas, then her people should give no less of themselves for her. It felt wrong to do any less.

     He had other things to set him pacing at night, aside from daily tasks. Quite often, while Dove was away from Haven, he would think about her. Find himself worrying for her, wondering if she was alright when they didn't receive a report of her activities, and then find himself feeling ashamed, for he knew once upon a time he would've hated her and everything she represented. He would have felt justified to be so, felt as if it were his holy calling, the path the Maker laid out for him to protect the world from her kind. Mages.

     He would kneel before his cot and pray, realizing he said the same prayer in hopes of her safety that he once would've prayed for her punishment. The same verse of the Chant once felt like it filled his soul with the Maker's light, giving him the strength to strike down his foes, the courage to stand between innocents and dangerous magic, and ignited the fire within his spirit. And now that verse recited filled him with a different emotion, and he noticed the difference.

_'Blessed are they who stand before_   
_The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._   
_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._   
_Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow._   
_In their blood the Maker's will is written.'_

     Benedictions, 4:10-11. And no longer did he hear the usual ardor in his voice. There was something else that caused him to recant the verses, another reason his heart leapt and his breath faltered, a different sort of prayer. He could hear it in the words. He heard:

_'Maker, bless Dove, who stands before the corrupt and wicked and does not falter. Your peacekeeper, and your champion. Whom you sent your prophet to guide back from the brink and delivered into my hands. Bless her for she is righteous; the light in the shadows. For I will shed my own blood to see that your will be done. No longer will I let myself be misguided by your children, or foolishly heed them, but only follow your word, yours alone, and let it fill me with your Light.'_

     He glanced to his left on occasion as he and Rylen trained recruits one morning, and to his left he saw a massive creature. Said creature was a Qunari mercenary called the Iron Bull. He didn't particularly like Iron Bull. He was loud, and his laugh could be heard all across Haven, worsened Cullen's headache, and his men drank the Singing Maiden's supply of ale right underneath of them. But they were good fighters, strong and capable, surprisingly diverse, and according to Leliana, he was Ben-Hassrath, and it seemed that door had finally opened.

     It was an opportunity to keep tabs on the Qunari, and well as control the information they received, and explore new opportunities with the information Bull was willing to share. This fact stayed between the Inquisition's most inner members. Only Dove, her companions, and the advisers knew. But it raised many questions in Cullen's mind. Questions like: how was it that Dove could be selfless enough to sacrifice her personal feelings towards Qunari to recruit Bull? How did she feel about the Ben-Hassrath? And how could she withstand Bull's company when she was sensitive to sound and smell?

     Did she like Bull?

     Was she...attracted to him in any way?

     Wait...why was Cullen suddenly so concerned with who she was attracted to? It wasn't as if it was any of his business. Other than from a professional stance, right? As in, he should be concerned with how her affairs with members of the Inquisition interfered with her duties...right? Or...at least that's what he told himself, because if he didn't know any better, he'd say he was...a little jealous.

     He realized he was staring when Iron Bull glanced his way and winked at him with his good eye. He quickly looked away and resumed watching the recruits, pretending he was merely surveying the yard, and wasn't just staring at Bull, grinding his teeth as he absently gripped the hilt of his sword. Makers breath, he was being ridiculous, wasn't he? Dove had no more love for Qunari than the next person. No reason to get upset, Cullen. No reason to jump to conclusions.

     Maker...he _was_ jealous, wasn't he?

     He felt even worse when he realized that. Because he knew he didn't have any reason whatsoever to be jealous with a woman he had no future with, no chance with, a woman he was certain had no feelings for him in that way. No, it was only friendship they shared. Maybe he could just chalk it up as a friend who was concerned for another friend, who had her best interests at heart, and leave it at that. For it was preferable to the alternative. The alternative being that he was developing feelings for the Herald of Andraste that had nothing to do with friendship.

     The Herald of Andraste that was entering the training yard, followed by the Seeker, Varric Tethras, and Solas. Thank the Maker, they'd returned from Redcliffe alive and unscathed. Though...they didn't look too happy about it. He turned to see Leliana and Josephine coming out the front gate, obviously notified of their arrival before he was. Quickly he joined them to greet the weary travelers and learn what they discovered when meeting with Enchantress Fiona.

* * *

     "Wait a minute, run that by me again?" Cullen requested, after Dove gave a very brief description of events. She let out a sigh.

     "I know, I know," she said. "I hardly believe it either. You know they say seeing is believing, right?"

     She reiterated her mantra, producing a huff and a grunt from the ambassador and the spy. As for the soldier, he sighed. She chewed her lip. "He wasn't lying. He meant every word of it, and that's what disturbs me the most. If Tevinter have somehow acquired such magic, and the alliance of all the free mages in the south, and not to go to war with Templars, then just what are they planning for me?"

     "And Felix said you, specifically?" Josephine asked. She nodded.

     "If we meet Alexius to continue negotiations when he sets a time and place, we'll be walking into a trap of some kind. Now the question is, what does the Ventatori gain with me out if the picture?"

     "Well we know what we'll lose," said Cullen. "We'll lose the only member of the Inquisition that can seal rifts, and can possibly seal the Breach. This is very dangerous, Herald. Again, might I advise that seeking the Templars would be a safer option."

     "And if the mages see us allying with Templars, the Inquisition could be singled out as an enemy, Commander," Josephine pointed out. "And we would no longer be neutral in the war."

     Leliana cleared her throat. "We already knew there was no way for the Inquisition to remain completely neutral, Josie. Eventually we would be forced to pick a side, with or without the Breach."

     "Would we?" Dove asked. "Because it seems to me like remaining neutral has been the only thing holding the Inquisition together thus far." She leaned against the table, more or less for support and to give herself some semblance of being grounded. As if to physically emphasise her stance on the subject. "Justinia wanted the war to come to a close, not for it to be continued."

     "We can still do that," Cullen told her, and she heard him step around the table as he spoke, footsteps surprisingly softer than usual. His heart beat got stronger in her ears. "If we turn one side or the other toward the Breach and toward other issues crowding Thedas, and away from fighting, we can effectively end the war. If we ally with the Templars, convince them to withdraw from fighting, Fiona won't need to ally with Alexius to take the fight to them. We just need enough influence to effectively-"

     "It won't be that easy, Cullen," Leliana argued. "Templars have been raiding cashes all over the Hinterlands and their numbers are spread everywhere. Just because the Lord Seeker waits at Therinfal does not mean he intends to stay there. His forces are still out hunting mages as we speak. They won't bend so easily."

     "You think I don't know that?!" He snapped, and Dove jumped at the explosion of sound, backing away from the table. Away from him. "I know exactly what they're doing! I know exactly what they're thinking! Dammit Leliana, the Order has been out there killing mages longer than anyone of us has been alive! Cutting them down left and right! We're only just now seeing it out on the open! It has to stop! We cannot simply allow it to continue!"

     "Well at least we all finally agree on something!" Josephine exclaimed, throwing her hands up, crinkling the fabric of her dress.

     Then it got quiet. Too quiet. The only thing Dove could sense was Cullen's raging heart, pounding in her ears, as he was the closest, and the noise drowned out any other. Then maybe Josephine gasped a little.

     She couldn't tell.

     "I'm sorry," she heard Cullen say, his voice wrought with emotion. "I didn't mean to..."

     She then realized she'd backed up flat against the door to get away from the noise hurting her ears. They started wringing and she couldn't hear anything else. "It's alright," she whispered. "Just..." She fumbled for the doorknob. "Let me know when you've made a decision."

     She stumbled when she fled from the room, as her footsteps sounded muffled and incoherent. In every sense of the word, she felt so... _blind_.

     Out in the hall she struggled to come to her senses, and vaguely she could hear, "My dear, are you alright?" Vivienne. No. She couldn't let Vivienne see her like this. The minute she sensed a weakness, she might exploit it. A product of the woman's nature. She held up a hand.

     "I'm fine," she managed to say.

     "Herald, you look as if you'll be sick," she said, her voice slowly getting louder over the muffled roar in her ears. "I think she's ill," she said to someone Dove couldn't hear. There was a thump on the floor behind her. Then, she felt a hand on her arm, a familiar touch. Strong hands gripping her tightly as if she'd fall. Cullen. "Commander, perhaps I should-"

     "It's alright, Lady Vivienne," came his earthquake of a tone close to her ear. "I'll take her to her cabin. She's had a very long journey. She needs the rest."

     Oh thank the Maker. Cullen could lead her out and she could pass it off as being sick, rather than hindered and tripping over her own feet because she couldn't hear.

     "Thank you," she whispered, trying not to wince at the sound of her own voice.

     She tried to remember the number of steps to the door, then outside across the flat, then the steps leading down, but her head hurt too badly. "I...I can't..."

     "I've got you," came a whisper.

     She nodded and followed Cullen's tug at her arm, taking a shaky breath as she put on foot in front of the other. She hated this. Hated it so much. It frightened her as a child. When her father died and she was left alone in the woods to spook at every sound, every click, pop and splash. Every scrape, every tumble, every time she fell down until she regained her balance and found her way. Tears staining her cheeks as she clutched the wooden staff in hand, lost and alone without her father to guide her.

     For ten years she stumbled until she found her way 'out of the dark'.

     Cullen led her out into the cold, then down to her cabin, one slow step at a time. When they went inside and the door shut behind them, she fumbled and nearly tripped over something, something that wasn't there before. "Dammit, I told them not to put things in here," came Cullen's angry growl. Whatever it was, he picked it up and moved it. Then he led her to the bed.

     She somewhat felt him when he knelt before her. "I'm so sorry," she heard him say. "I never should've shouted like that. Are you alright?"

     "I'll be fine," she whispered. "I just...can't hear you. It doesn't sound right." She grimaced as another wave of pain hit her. "It'll pass. It usually does."

     "How can you be so forgiving, Dove?" He asked. "Maker, I don't understand you sometimes."

     She reached out to find his shoulder, then pat it, her hand meeting the fur of his over coat. "What I wouldn't give to be like you, Cullen Rutherford," she whispered.

     She felt him move up and down under her hand when he sighed. Then she felt him move away from her. Getting up. Possibly to leave. She wanted him to stay. She really didn't want to be alone when this happened. She didn't want to go back to what she was. Scared, alone, cold and shivering when the thunder exploded in the sky and she'd cry at the sound of it, making her eyes feel like they were bleeding.

     "Are you busy?" She whispered. "Can...can you stay a while? Just til it passes. I hate being alone when this happens. It...frightens me."

     "I...didn't know you could be afraid of anything," he said. Then he sighed again. "I'm so sorry I upset you. Of course I'll stay."

     Once more he knelt, and she patted around his bulky frame until she found his hand.

     "Thank you," she said, feeling him squeeze her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured you guys could use some fluff for all your patience :)


	28. Shot Out of the Sky pt 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wasn't about to post that last chapter and leave it alone for a while on such a cliffhanger. So here's what happens after Cullen escorts Dove to her cabin...

     Cullen knelt on the floor in Dove's cabin, clutching her hand.

     He had no idea what do to. He'd never seen her vulnerable like this before. Only once did he ever, when she first attempted to close the Breach, and she'd been knocked unconscious from the blast. He watched her being carried away on a stretcher when the fighting was over, saw her scrapes and bruises, white eyes closed. And he'd only ever seen her confidence, her ability to walk like everyone else, talk like everyone else, sense things that were far beyond his comprehension.

     He was confused, and ashamed, kneeling in front of her, watching her breathe unsteadily, looking as if she were about to faint. And he didn't know how to fix it. This was not a situation that required soldiers, this wasn't combat, nor was it a situation that required a Templar's abilities. Commander Cullen was useless. Knight-Captain Cullen was useless. Who was left? Who was he if he wasn't a former Templar, and the Commander of the Inquisition's forces?...Well, he was her friend.

     So he squeezed her hand and asked, as gently as he could, "Would a healer be able to help you?"

     She shook her head. "I'll be fine, Cullen," she whispered. "It's starting to pass."

     "How is it that you can withstand loud noises?" He asked. "Fighting demons, the Breach, the war, any of it?"

     "Most noise I can tune out, focus on something else. But there's something about your voice. I don't know what it is but it's just..."

     "Hard to listen to?"

     She nodded. He chuckled a little. So did she, and seeing her smile made him relax a touch. Put his mind at ease. He got up and sat next to her on the bed, but he didn't let go of her hand. Mostly because her vice grip on it sort of prevented that. She said she couldn't hear him. Was she...not able to sense him either? Truly blind, for once, and totally dependent on her sense of touch? He watched her close her eyes let out a sigh. So did he.

     "It's like a bolt of lightning," she said. "Right over top your head, with no warning. Loud, and unpredictable as to where it will strike, and when it does, it's sudden and frightening."

     "Now I just feel _worse_ ," he admitted, and she huffed a little, shaking her head.

     "I'm just not used to it, that's all...I'm not angry with you, and I know you meant well, but the three of you need to keep it together, and come to a decision. The longer you wait, the more difficult it will be for you all."

     Cullen slicked his hair back with his free hand. "You say that as if you have no say in the matter," he pointed out. "You have as much as we do. I...had another reason for pressing the issue. A...very biased one. I promised myself I wouldn't be partial, but...You are the one with the mark, you're the one ultimately taking the risks to close the Breach, and your safety matters."

     "Does it now?" She asked, rather rhetorically, he supposed. But he answered anyway.

     "It does. And that much magic is dangerous, and with no way to contain it you have no idea what that could do to you. As opposed to securing enough Templars to weaken the Breach to allow you to close it."

     "And what if the others are right, Cullen?" She asked. "What if allying with Templars causes the mages to turn against the Inquisition?"

     "We can prepare for it," he said confidently, but she didn't look convinced.

     "We cannot allow the mages to be chained to the Imperium," she told him. "I may never have been in a Circle, but I'm not unfamiliar with a mage's struggle. The Annulment in Kirkwall didn't only pretain to the Circle mages. But _all_ mages became victim." Very true. He should know. He was there. "The Lord Seeker's forces aren't just attacking apostates or rebels. They're hurting _everyone_. And if Fiona's people ally with Tevinter they're only moving backwards, not forward, Cullen. Maker only knows what will happen to them then. Templars stopped caring to know the difference between one mage and another. We both know this."

     He prickled at how easily she said that. And made it sound as if he wasn't privy to it. As if he'd never taken the oath or had ever been part of that. But he wasn't above judgement, for he'd done the very same.

     "You were in Kirkwall?" He couldn't help but ask, wondering just what it was she'd seen, or _heard_ anyways, and what she became victim to. What else did she know? Did she...did she know about...

     "I was, yes," she said. "Passing through with the Valo-kas. Headed east along the coast, traveling to Ostwick. I heard about how things were circling the drain in Kirkwall, heard about a warrior named Hawke getting involved, and that a mage blew up the city's Chantry...let's just say no one ever saw my staff when we passed through their borders."

     She'd been there, and neither ever knew the other was there, did they? What were the odds?...He sighed, thinking about how while both of them were on different ends of the spectrum, neither of them wanted to pick sides. Not really. Not like this anyway.

     Dove didn't want to be persecuted for being a mage, nor did she want to be involved with the conflict. And Cullen, while he knew perfectly well what Templars were capable of, and that enough of them banded together could dampen the power of the Breach, reduce it to a reasonable flux of energy so that Dove could close it as easily as any rift, he didn't want to brand all mages enemies to the Inquisition in the process. Whatever decision they made, regardless of the nature of it, likely they would shape the world with the gravity of that decision.

     He let out a sigh.

     "If Fiona and her followers were desperate enough to be convinced that indenturing themselves to Tevinter was a wise choice, that only tells me two things. One, the woman is insane. Two, there may be nothing we can do to help the mages. But we can still turn the Lord Seeker away from fighting. The others have a few ideas of where to start, and how we might use our influence in Orlais to convince them."

     Dove chewed her lip, as if something was on her mind, but she didn't want to say it.

     "What is it?" He asked, and her face fell a little.

     "I don't think the Lord Seeker is who we think he is," she said. "You remember I told you when we were in Val Royeaux that something felt off about him?"

     "Yes?"

     "I could...sense something about him that I don't normally sense about people." His brow raised at that. It was like she could tell, as she suddenly hung her head and groaned. "I normally only sense those sort of things in spirits," she clarified. "Its not like I can read a person's mind. But I can...I...I just..." She looked very uncomfortable just then, and tried to let go of his hand, but he held on.

     "Dove, I am no longer a Templar. Whatever reason you think I won't trust you, ignore it. And whatever you have to say about Lucius might help us make a decision. So tell me, what is wrong with Lucius?"

     "I...think he might be possessed," she admitted, and he gaped at her.

     "A Seeker of Truth? Possessed? That's..."

     "Improbable, but not necessarily impossible. Cassandra never gave details, but she did tell me that Seekers go through a process that makes them almost entirely resistant to possession. But when I asked her if it's possible that he could be possessed, she...well, she didn't know what to think, but she didn't exactly tell me no either. But she doesn't trust the Lord Seeker anymore than I do. Otherwise she never would have left the order."

     "Does she know about your abilities? Have you told her?" Dove shook her head at that. "And why not?"

     "Not really a reason to," she said. "Plus I don't really know if that's what's wrong with him. I just know he's different than what he says he is. The inside doesn't match the outside. It's...odd. And while some of his men might not agree with his decisions they still follow him, and I'm not entirely sure if he can be trusted. But, if we can convince Alexius to surrender the mages, and convince them to stand down, rally to our cause, one, we can ensure their safety, and two, we can ensure the mages have a better future than whatever the Venatori have planned. We can free them. Give them a choice. We can control the outcome. Both choices are dangerous, and I know this, but if I had to choose..."

     "You'd choose freedom," he said and she nodded. "I suppose I can understand that....So...are you ever going to tell me about it?"

     "About what?"

     "Sensing demons. I mean, I've heard that some mages have the ability to sense spirits. Are able to differentiate between a living being and other entities. It's very rare. They resist possession the most. But...I don't think I've ever heard of a person...'hearing' them like you do."

     Once more, Dove went on the defensive. "It doesn't matter-"

     "Considering our first threat at the moment are demons, it can't hurt to learn as much information about them as we can," he said. "And you're out there fighting them, not having tea and cookies with them." She laughed a little at that. "And...I'm just curious. I've...I've never listened, or, no, that's not the right word. I mean I've never heard of such a thing. If it posed a threat of any kind I suppose it would be different, but as I said, demons are a problem, and it seems to me your ability to sense them is actually pretty useful."

     "Well, I don't actually know why it is that I hear them," she said. "I just do. Always have. I suppose the best way to describe it is...they talk. Alot. And I understand their language. To others it might be like understanding a bird when it chirps. Or a dog when it barks. Something like that. But I hear...their pain."

     "Hear their pain?" He repeated.

     "Yes. It's sounds like you and me. It...sounds like a living being in the waking world to me. Much stronger now that demons are in the waking world, in the flesh, and it hurts. They...well, they _feel_. I suppose you didn't know that fear demons feel fear, did you?" He shook his head, then remembered she couldn't see it, but before he said no, she said, "Didn't think so." He rolled his eyes. Her senses were returning. "When I was little, after my father died, and I was alone, I...kept hearing something in the woods. I later learned that I was in a place elves call setheneran. A place where the Veil is thin, thin enough for spirits to sense me, and I them. But I kept hearing something. Making clicking sounds. And I just remember this feeling. Whatever it was, it was _frightened_ of me. Like a fennec, or something else.

     'Don't be afraid,' I said. 'I'm not going to hurt you.' Then it _answered_. It said, 'If I'm not afraid, then what am I?' I didn't really get it at the time, but it was asking, 'If I'm not Fear, then what am I.' And I thought about it, just shrugged and said, 'Well, the only way to fight fear is with courage. So if you're afraid, then be courageous. My father told me it's alright to feel fear, everybody feels it, but you don't have to be defined by it.' And then it just...disappeared. I...didn't know I was talking to a demon."

     "Wait, you actually sat in the woods and had a conversation across the Veil with a fear demon?" Cullen asked.

     "I didn't know I was. And I didn't know I was supposed to be afraid of it," she told him. "Had _no idea whatsoever_. And since it couldn't make me afraid it just left me alone. That's when I learned how demons corrupt the living in the first place. By inciting the emotions they embody. They're very simple creatures. They only understand the emotions they inhibit. Fear, anger, dispair. They're not quite like people that can comprehend an array of emotions. They're simply not as complicated as the living. But they're all different. No two spirits of the Fade are ever the same and the way in which they attempt to connect to us shapes and molds them."

     Cullen had absently started rubbing his chin as she talked, soaking it all in. He'd never cared to know anything of the Fade beyond the ways in which he prevented his charges from being corrupted by it. This was new information to him. Spirits actually _feeling_ the virtues in which they embodied? He kept his opinion to himself as she continued.

     "If they can find some way to relate to us, they can connect to us. They have something to attach to, and outlet in which to climb in and eventually possess us. But without that connection, they can't. So fear demons use our fears against us. Rage demons incite our own rage. More powerful demons will use other flaws. But me...we'll, they can't really scare me when I can hear how scared _they_ are. How angry they are. How hurt and confused they are. Like...you, Cullen. You being a former Templar can't frighten me, when I know you're just like me, trying to fix the world, not make it worse. _Seeing_ things for what they are and what they appear to be are sometimes two different things."

     "And when you can't see anything at all, it doesn't effect you," he said.

     She wouldn't feel that way if she could read his mind like she claimed to read a demon's thoughts.

     "So, have I made you to understand the way I 'see' the world? Or have I only made you feel like you should be dragging me to a Circle?" She asked, with a bit of a chuckle. She shouldn't be joking about something like that. But...if making light of it put her at ease, made her trust him, then he couldn't begrudge her for it. "If it makes you feel any better," she then added, "There are just as many dangerous things in the waking world. Dangerous people. Without adding demons. That's why there are so many demons. They're attracted to it. I always theorized that if we stopped being angry at things when we're awake, will stop attracting so much anger in our sleep."

     He was inclined to believe it.

     He just wished it erased the past too. For even if he wasn't angry about it, it still happened. And that made him feel worse. For there was no way to take it back.

     "So you really don't know why it is that you can do this?" He asked, and she shook her head. "Hmm. A bit disappointing to hear. It means it can't be replicated. Or taught to other mages. But still. With that knowledge, I imagine you could completely change how mages fend demons when they connect to the Fade. You could help them withstand possession."

     "Well, I've tried. I've had about seventy-five percent success with apostates I've met in my travels."

     He huffed. "Better than none, isn't it?...As a Templar I've _seen_ the danger of possession. And if we're really looking toward the future for mages in Thedas..."

     She smiled. "You, know, I think I'm just glad you're not trying to kill me right now," she said. Though...she still looked nervous below the surface.

     "I would never," he said. "Not unless I absolutely had to." No, he vowed to _never_ be that man. "There's too much to like about you," he complimented. "Namely, that you're literally _incapable_ of judging someone by their appearance. A rare quality indeed."

     "I imagine it is," she quipped. Then she sighed. "I should let you get back to work. I've kept you away from your duties long enough as it is. And there's much to be done."

     "Yes, I imagine there is," he agreed. "The others wanted you to look into a situation in the Fallow Mire as soon as you're able. Some scouts haven't reported back and we have no idea what's going on in the area. There might be rifts."

     "I'll leave tomorrow then," she said.

     "Now hold on a minute. You've only just returned from Redcliffe. And we don't even know if they're still alive, or how dangerous it is. And I meant what I said. You need rest. You haven't stopped since you started."

     She pursed her lips.

     "Me? You think I can't tell you've been burning both ends of the candle?" She asked him, and he sheepishly hung his head. Of course she could. She could read him like an open book. Ironically. "Tell you what, Commander. I'll sleep when you do. Fair enough?"

     He sighed. "Fair enough. Get some rest then. We'll talk later about Alexius and the Lord Seeker. That argument isn't over just yet."

     "I know. And again, thank you, Cullen."

     He glanced over to see her smiling, then looked down to notice that through all of that, he'd never let go of her hand. He felt self-conscious about it just then. He started to let go, and so did she, both suddenly feeling very awkward, and it showed, with the way he cleared his throat and ran fingers through his hair, and the way she did the same.

     "I'll uh...I'll see you later then," he managed.

     "Right, yes, I'll uh...well, I won't _see_ you but...you know..."

     "Right, sorry about that, I meant we'll... We'll talk later, or..."

     Maker, he sounded like an idiot.

     "We'll talk later," she said. And before he ended up with his foot in his mouth, he nodded and got up to leave the room. He glanced back to see her leaning forward, head cast downward, clasping her hands together in her lap, strands of long white hair falling around her. Then he glanced at her horns.

     He'd forgotten she even _had_ horns.

     He let that thought fester in the back of his mind as he left her cabin and went back to his duties.  
  
     Did...did it really matter that she had them?  
  
     When she wasn't defined by them at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you guys think of my demon theory? As for whether or not there's any validation to it, I guess that's a question for the writers at Bioware. But anywho, thought it was interesting of a concept. After all, Cole has an innate drive to help because he is compassion. But perhaps he's yet to understand its because he _feels_ compassionate. I figured since Solas sees spirits are people too, it would make sense that they feel like people do, but they only understand one type of way to feel, and it could be the emotions they represent. I imagine more powerful demons are more complicated, with a higher understanding, and the proof is in the pudding when Cole starts learning more things about people in the waking world besides their pain. I guess the only thing about the theory that's most crucial is the concept of spirits being corrupted against their purpose, which my theory does not discount at all. Anyway, I just thought it was interesting. Carry on.


	29. Thinking Of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Warning: some NSFW)
> 
> Cullen can't stop thinking about the Herald...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's no bird/flying metaphor in the title, but I couldn't think of one this time around, and the title fits the chapter.
> 
> And I'm so sorry that yet again this took so long to update. Brain's been all over the place lately, and I posted new works as well. Hope this makes up for it.

     She could see. Well, in his dreams anyway. Those strange, yet intriguing dreams he would sometimes have of her, the blessing that they were, for though they would start as nightmares, like every other dream, soon there she would be, like a beacon in the dark, taking his hand in hers and leading him out of the night and into sweet, blessed daylight. And she could see him, those enchanting eyes of hers narrowing when she smiled at him.

     "Don't be afraid, Cullen," she said to him. "It's only a dream."  
   
     And then he would wake.  
   
     He would never admit to anyone, much less her, that he often dreamt of her, more so whenever she returned to Haven. He would never tell a soul of such things, for such things made him very uncomfortable. For some of the dreams, well...they weren't very appropriate. They were dreams the likes of which he felt very ashamed to be having of her, and felt as if he should punished for having.  
   
     Dreams of defiling the Herald of Andraste like a tavern whore.  
   
     Oh...they were detailed. _Maker_ , were they detailed.  
   
     And the latest dream was so memorable to his senses, he woke that morning with a full-blown raging hard on, and since it was still too early to rise, he had the time to release the tension, pleasuring himself to the images that haunted him still...  
   
_...'Maker...Dove, what are you doing?'_  
  
_'I'm seeing if you're as sensitive as I am, Cullen.'..._  
   
     He bit the back of his hand to muffle the noises he might make as he reached into his pants and grasped his length.  
   
_She straddles him, leans in to brush his lips with her tongue, coaxing his mouth open, but she goes no further. Her hair falls around his face, the length of it like silk gliding across his bare chest as she taunts him with a trail of kisses leading down, down...down...Her breath on his skin, the touch of her hands as her head slowly dips lower, and lower, across his abdomen..._  
   
     He stroked himself in thought of it, slowly at first, getting harder by the second, shaking and perspiring, his breath sharp and quick.  
   
_...She traces her fingers softly through the hair surrounding his length at first, before she lightly touches, making his head rear back when her hand caresses him, then slowly wraps around to grip him tightly...'Maker, yes,' he moans, as she slides her tongue along his length, then her lips find the tip and gently suck...He trembles, wanting desperately for that mouth of hers to open and let him in..._  
   
     His paced quickened a touch, and he started to tremble, slowly getting closer to his demise with each stroke.  
   
_Her lips are so soft around it, and dear Maker, he is sensitive to it...She knows it too. She goes so slowly, just to torture him, her tongue flicking against his length as she goes down, making him rise him to meet her with every move, he thrusts into her mouth, begging, 'Maker please,' but she won't move any faster, she refuses, and then she moans against his length, vibrating against it, causing his eyes to roll back in his head._  
   
_He can't take it anymore. He has to have her. He has to have all of her, and she has to have all of him, filled to the brim like a sheath to the hilt of a blade..._

     It didn't take very long for the Commander to find release that morning, his seed spilling out onto his abdomen, quickly wiped up with a handkerchief. He honestly felt like he should burn it, and burn his clothing, then jump into the icy lake beyond Haven, as if erasing the evidence from existence might somehow clear his conscience. And he felt as if he should be begging for forgiveness for such things.

     He felt so guilty for the way he'd been thinking of her. Yet still, thinking on the brighter side of things, at least thinking of her distracted him from other things, like the little pains and aches that constantly clouded him. And it reminded him of how important to all of them she was. It reminded him that they were all called to a higher purpose, and though he was saddled with guilt, at least he wasn't seated with doubt.

     For the first time in a long time, he was filled with purpose, and though his head ached, he'd never felt such clarity of mind.

     He woke his second in command at daybreak, and immediately barrelled into work. Organizing the recruits to train, reading missives, reports, and unopened letters that arrived that morning. The Herald would be in Haven for another day, and wouldn't be leaving for the Fallow Mire until the following morning, so they also had a war council meeting that morning, but this time, discussion of an alliance was left out of conversation.

     Until they received a response from Alexius, they would wait, and instead utilize their time by looking into other matters of import.

     Dove looked much better that morning than previously. She looked as if she'd slept, and her hearing was back to normal. Not even the sound of a pin dropping could escape her notice. It was hard to look at her face to face though, considering the thoughts that came to mind whenever he did, so he kept his eyes on the table, while Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine prattled on, and Dove listened attentively.

     They each read reports and asked for Dove's input on such matters, and while they did she would stand facing the bookshelf, hands clasped behind her back, like a soldier. She'd think for a moment, briefly twirling a snowy lock of hair before turning her head and giving her answer. Cullen tried to ignore how attractive she was when she did that, played with her hair, for whenever she did he imagined it was his hand touching that hair.

     Maker, get over yourself, Cullen, he thought. Stop thinking of her like that.

     When the meeting was over, Josephine returned to her office, and Leliana returned to her tent, but Cassandra had nothing to do and so she invited both Cullen and Dove to lunch with her at the tavern. Cullen fell in step behind the woman as they left the Chantry, and silently pondered his thoughts as the two of them chatted, vaguely listening to the conversation. It had to do with something they'd discussed in the war room.

     But judging by their body language, their measure of comfort with one another, Cullen couldn't help but notice how the two of them seemed to be becoming quite good friends. He was glad of that. He found he had a great respect for Cassandra, both as a person, and as a Seeker, as the woman who recruited him into the Inquisition months ago. And knowing how the woman had been struggling with everything since the Conclave, it was nice to see her relaxed around someone.

     She had yet to ask how he was doing without Lyrium, but he knew the woman was watching for telltale signs of struggle whenever she was at Haven. He felt her critical gaze as he politely opened the door to the tavern for them, and followed both women inside. The quizzical elf named Sera was already inside and followed them over to the table upon seeing them, flouncing down in a seat across from Dove.

     Then Cassandra sat down _directly_ across from Dove, giving Cullen no choice but to sit right next to the Herald. He wasn't complaining, but it was interesting to be in such close proximity to her after the thoughts he'd been having. His heart raced, and he hoped Dove couldn't hear it over all the noise in the tavern, the conversations and music, the clinking of cups and scraping of forks.

     Thoughts of her were momentarily replaced by the memory of Dove telling him about recruiting Sera, and trying to picture the look on the Seeker's face, imagining that it was somewhat like the scowl she sported just then, as Sera wasn't exactly invited to join them. But none of them were going to be rude and tell her to leave. Cullen found he actually sort of liked her. She was very different from most elves he knew.

     She didn't stay long, however, merely pestered the three of them with silly and childish remarks for a few minutes, before saying, "Come get me before you go to the swampy place," to Dove, who nodded, and then she scampered off, that quickly, no longer interested in conversation.

     "There is something seriously wrong with that girl, Dove," Cassandra pointed out to her, stabbing her fork into the meat on her plate. Cullen glanced her direction, watching her sigh, and almost roll her eyes, as if she just knew Cassandra would have something to say about the elf.

     "Don't think I don't know the both of you are staring at me," she said to them, and Cullen looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cassandra eye him strangely for a moment. "She may be strange, but she's useful. That's all I can say about it."

     "No one's questioning that," Cullen amended. "But, I agree with the Seeker. Something is definitely... _off_ about her."

     Dove's only response was a laugh.

     Conversation eventually moved elsewhere, before Dove had to excuse herself from their company to speak to Herrit about armor repairs. The Storm Coast had not been kind to her leather coat, and neither had her fight with demons in Redcliffe. He knew she would never admit to it, but the whole situation seemed to have left Dove in a flux of emotions. He watched her leave, long strands of white fluttering the whole way out the door.

     When it was only the two of them, Cassandra sighed and set down her fork, propping her elbows on the table and clasping her hands together in front of her.

     "How have you been fairing, Cullen?" she finally asked. He leaned back in his seat, and tried to pretend he wasn't put off by the question.

     "Well enough," he answered stiffly, and Cassandra nodded, silently regarding him as she did.

     "And you have not been...struggling with it?" she then asked. He shook his head.

     "Not anymore than I can handle," he said, and again, she nodded.

     "You are a very brave man for doing this, Commander," she commended. "But...with that being said, I can't help but wonder if it's truly the right thing to do."

     "It is. I don't want that life anymore, Cassandra. I'm not that man anymore. So as long as it doesn't interfere with my duties, I can endure it."

     "Good, good," she said with another nod. And then she considered something for a moment, before saying, "You haven't told Dove about it, have you?"

     "No, I haven't. I don't plan to. That's not something she should worry about."

     "But she's your friend."

     "She's too important to us, Cassandra. Her focus should be on sealing the Breach. Not any personal problems I may have." Cassandra grumbled at that. "What?"

     "The two of you are very similar," she said. "It's aggravating."

     "I bet," he quipped, and she shook her head at him. "I'll let you know if anything changes," he then told her.

     With a sigh, the Seeker excused herself from the table after dropping some coin to pay for everything, and left the tavern. Part of him wished he'd never told Cassandra he'd stopped taking Lyrium, just so he wouldn't have her worrying over him, but part of him was glad he did. Though he could only wonder how Dove would react if she knew. He was doing the right thing. It was better if she didn't.

     Better if she continued believing he was like every other Templar in Haven. It was better than her ever learning the truth about him, and about why he wanted to cut himself off from the Order, and from Lyrium. That thought alone kept him from opening up to her, even though he wanted to. Because it was that thought alone that made him ashamed of the way he was beginning to feel for her.

     That evening, after every bit of work for the day had been finished, and all others were heading to bed, Cullen still found himself awake in his tent, mulling over things. His thoughts about Dove, his conversation with Cassandra, and how desperately he wished to be closer to the Herald, but also how he wished he could distance himself. Then he drummed his fingers on the desk as he stared at a blank sheet of parchment.

     It had been so long since he'd spoken to his siblings, and now he wondered if there was a point in doing so. He had not seen them since he first left home. Every time he thought to write to them, he was only reminded of the life he left behind, and the memories he'd tried to suppress, memories that became harder and harder to let go of now that his mind was out of the fog, free and clear of the Lyrium spell he'd been under.

     There was always an excuse to halt him, every time he tried to pen a letter, and the ink splashed the page just then when he made yet another fruitless attempt.

     "Dammit," he mumbled under his breath, just as a voice could be heard outside the tent.

     "Commander?" Dove called gently, and his eyes snapped to the opening.

     Of course. Of all people to disturb him now, it was the one woman he couldn't get out of his head all day. "Just a moment," he said, rather habitually, before realizing there was no need to hide the parchment from view. He wanted to smack himself just then, but instead simply rose from his chair and said, "Enter."

     She poked her head in first, and sniffed the air. "I smell fresh ink," she said. "You're not still working, are you?"

     "No, I...uh," He scratched his head. "I was just taking some last minute notes. I'm finished now. Please, come in."

     No doubt she knew he was lying, but she didn't say a word about it.

     In she came, absent of armor, and only wearing the cloth tunic and breeches that were normally underneath, wrapped in a wool blanket, as if she'd gone to bed but couldn't sleep, or simply found the frozen air just too unbearable. She did mention once that she preferred the warmth of summer, a touch of irony, considering how she was so adept at ice magic. She held up her right hand to reveal a bottle of something.

     "Care for a drink?" she offered as she held it out to him.

     "What is that?" he asked.

     She paused before answering, considering the bottle in her hand as if she could see the label on it. "I honestly have no idea," she said with a chuckle. "But I picked it up in Redcliffe. Here." She held it out to him, and he accepted, glancing at the faded label, trying to make out the words in the candlelight. "Do we dare attempt to drink it? Or should we just chuck it in the lake?" she asked with a laugh.

     The bit about 'chucking it in the lake' reminded him of the day he threw the Lyrium box in the lake, but he was sure it was unintentional. There was no way she could know about that. "Oh, I'm sure it's drinkable," he assured her. "But I really shouldn't." He held out the bottle for her to take it back.

     Her smile faded, her head downcast in her disappointment. "Oh, well, I was just hoping...since I'll be leaving tomorrow, we could..." She trailed off and just shrugged instead, and Cullen felt terrible for turning her down. But honestly, he wasn't sure if he could trust himself around her while intoxicated. Even if he only had one drink. Not with everything that had been on his mind that day. It was better he gave her some space.

     "I'm sorry," he told her. "Another time perhaps?"

     She gave a lopsided grin, and said, "Another time then. Goodnight, Cullen."

     "Goodnight, Dove," he said in turn.

     When she left the tent, and he was certain she was far enough away from it that she wouldn't hear, he flopped down at his desk and groaned. "Some friend you are," he muttered.

     Then he blew out his candle, calling it a night.

     All the while still thinking of her.


End file.
